


For Hire

by Guede



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Magic, Anal Beads, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bestiality, Branding, Catheters, Chastity Device, Cock & Ball Torture, Corsetry, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing Kink, Dubious Consent, Fisting, Fuck Or Die, Gangbang, Gun Kink, Human Furniture, Humiliation, Incest, Japanese Rope Bondage, Knotting, Medical Kink, Multi, Nipple Torture, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Piercings, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Predicament Bondage, Prostate Milking, Rape Fantasy, Reincarnation, Riding Crops, Roleplay, Sex Toys, Torture, Watersports, Wax Play, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:36:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 128,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4738031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guede/pseuds/Guede
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fugitive Rufus Shinra has the bright idea to proposition local immortal mage Cloud Strife.  Or, this was initially an exercise in seeing how many kinks I could stuff into one fic, and afterwards grew a plot about what would happen if Cloud kept living, Jenova was gone for good, and everyone else reincarnated.</p><p>12/8/15: I had a series of post-fic extra scenes that I've been debating about posting for a while, seeing as they're 1) PWP and 2) PWP I did as writing exercises/to get some nagging kink ideas out of my head, so I don't think they're as well-written as they could be.  But I'm tired of staring at them on my hard drive, so I've added them as-is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This originally was supposed to be a series of PWP scenes where I tried out writing kinks I like but have never managed to write before. Then I thought of a plot. I spent a lot of time trying to rework the story so the plot and the porn flowed organically together; I don't think I smoothed out everything, but I got tired of editing and re-editing, so here it is.

The man’s eyes dropped to Cloud’s muddy boots and his lip lifted, and Cloud almost turned on his heel and walked out. He didn’t need this, whatever the hell Tifa thought.

“Not the caliber I was expecting from—”

“Do I look like one of the staff?” Cloud said. He knew he didn’t. Sure, they could come up with some spectacular wardrobes here, but even they didn’t dare fake a mage’s ear jewels. And he wasn’t _that_ filthy.

The man looked at him again, levelly enough. It almost hid the chagrin. Rolling his eyes, Cloud strode past him into the adjoining bath. They’d already drawn a sink full of water, just the right side of scalding, with plenty of soap foaming in it and a small touch of cooling chamomile.

He plunged his hands in and bent over, closing his eyes and letting the steam gently soften his face. In the other room, sharp footsteps crossed and recrossed a span of about five feet.

Cloud sighed, then dipped his head further and began to work the dirt from his neck and under his jaw. He would have to ditch the boots. Aside from the mud crusts, he could feel a hard, misshapen lump embedded in the sole of the right one, probably where that last wave of spellwork had begun to melt the nails in the heel. At that point, the protective wards were too compromised, and…

“I was told to go to this room,” said the man. He was slouching with elaborate carelessness when Cloud looked up, his eyes restlessly moving over Cloud. He probably thought he was putting up a cool, imperturbable front. “Rufus Shinra. I asked for—”

“Yeah, saw the boxes on the bed.” Cloud looked down. The water in the sink was cloudy, a light brown that still smelled like chamomile. He snorted, then reached into the mess and pulled the plug. Then hit the tap and let the water run over his hands till it was coming clean. “Did you look in them?”

Rufus tilted his head. “I ordered them.”

The towels were nice and thick, something Cloud always missed when he had to go out to the borderlands. He had to admit, those and the chamomile alone had him about ready to forgive Aeris for springing this one on him. This man, easy as he was on the eyes, wasn’t exactly what he wanted straight off the road, battleworn and still shaking the death out of his hands, but he got what she’d been trying to do and she’d meant well. “Yeah. Okay.”

He straightened up, absently flicking the water off his hands, and Rufus shut his mouth hard on whatever supercilious comment he’d been about to make, his eyes wide and hungry and his nostrils flaring. Cloud paused, staring at him, and Rufus abruptly collected himself. His shoulder clipped the jamb and a muscle in his cheek twitched.

“I—” Rufus started, hard and flat.

“Did you look in them?” Cloud asked again. He twisted his fingers, and this time let the snaky, slick tendril of magic slide across the back of his hand before it fizzed out. The tang of ozone in the air made Rufus hesitate and Cloud crossed the room in that time, got his hand up to just press two fingers into the side of Rufus’ jaw. “Do you even know what you ordered?”

Rufus was tense and still. He had a few inches on Cloud, enough so that one of them had to move a chin to maintain eye contact at this distance. Cloud ran his fingers back along Rufus’ jaw, curled them around Rufus’ nape just above that expensive tie, and Rufus bent his head so Cloud didn’t have to raise his.

“Thought not,” Cloud said. He looked over at the bed while he worked his fingers into Rufus’ collar, listening to the way Rufus’ breath hitched. There were a lot of boxes. 

The tie had a pretty tight knot and it took a few pulls against Rufus’ throat to make it inch down. Once Cloud could slip his whole hand under the collar, he used it to pull Rufus over to the bed. Rufus began to drop and Cloud pulled him sharply back up by the collar, then left his hand pulling that down Rufus’ back, keeping the knot of the tie pressed to the soft front of Rufus’ throat.

“Haven’t done this in a while?” Cloud asked dryly. He looked over the boxes while Rufus decided what lie to go with.

“I’m—informed as to what happens,” Rufus said. Not a lie; Cloud looked at him and there was a glint of satisfaction in Rufus’ eyes, right before it occurred to the man to drop them. His voice got a bit less brittle, a bit more demanding. “I did order them. I am aware of their uses.”

“You’re an idiot.” Cloud watched the color rise in Rufus’ face. Pretty, pale skin, as if he’d never been outside for longer than a lawn party in his life. He’d probably bruise if a feather touched him; there were already blue shadows developing on his throat where Cloud had gripped him.

Rufus lifted stiff hands to his shirt and Cloud shoved them down. He waited a second, still watching Rufus’ face, and then wrapped his hands around Rufus’ wrists, loose, and pushed the man backwards. Two steps and Rufus was against one of the bedposts. His eyes flicked back and forth over Cloud, running the calculations, and then he sighed and sank back against the post. When Cloud lifted his hands, Rufus’ wrists stayed right up against his hips where Cloud had put them.

Cloud turned back to the bed. He surveyed the scatter of boxes across it, then picked up one of the bigger ones. They were all white cardboard, glossy finish, with a costly heft to the packaging. This one was tied with a ribbon of dark blue silk, an inch and a half wide. Cloud pinched it between his fingers and tugged, testing it, and heard the hitch of breath he was waiting for.

He undid the ribbon and tossed it aside, then lifted the top, and unfolded crisp white tissue paper. “This is a corset,” he said. He slid his hands under it, keeping the bottom layer of tissue paper between it and his hands. “You ordered it?”

“Yes,” Rufus said quietly. He was still running his calculations. “White silk, navy blue trim. Leather for the straps. For the boning—”

“I could always read the invoice.” Cloud let Rufus have his irritated moment, then turned towards the man. He let the tissue paper fall and held the corset up to Rufus. “Hope your tailor is good.”

Rufus tilted his head again. “He’s excellent,” he said, staring hard at Cloud. 

He pushed himself off the post, then turned around with exaggerated slowness. His arms moved and his suit jacket dropped in a snowy puddle at his feet, then his shirt and tie. He put one hand on the post and lifted his feet to take off his shoes and socks rather than bend. Then his pants and his belt came off. No underwear, predictably.

“Put your hands up on the post,” Cloud said. He stepped closer, letting the corset brush over Rufus’ back, and then held it over Rufus’ shoulder and used it to tap at the underside of Rufus’ wrists. “Higher.”

The laces were already loosened, so it was easy to slip the corset around Rufus’ torso. He was slim and small-hipped, that suit of his cut to give him a more imposing bulk than he really had, and the tailor had been good. Cloud settled the corset at Rufus’ waist, just pressing it in with his hands, and appreciated the smooth fit of the curves. He moved his hands up and down a few inches to see what the give was, then reached for the laces.

“Breathe when I tell you,” Cloud told Rufus. “No, don’t tell me what you read about how this works. I’m lacing you.”

“It wasn’t only reading,” Rufus said sharply. His inhale was even sharper when Cloud began to lift his hands. “All right. All right. Just—”

“I’ll tell you,” Cloud said, slowly allowing his hands to rest on Rufus’ back again. He twisted the loose ends of the laces up around his fingers, waiting for the tremble in Rufus’ shoulders to go away. “Listen.”

Rufus tensed, then rolled his shoulders forward. He leaned his head against the post and Cloud decided that that was good enough. He could try and hide it.

He managed till the corset was halfway tightened, and then Cloud could tell he was starting to feel the difference in his breathing, the way the pressure cinched upwards from his belly. “How would you know?” Rufus snapped, cutting off Cloud’s instruction. “Have you ever worn one?”

“A lot, actually,” Cloud said. “Passing as a girl turns out to be a pretty good assassination skill.”

Rufus’ shoulders jerked. He gasped, then gasped again, and Cloud had to stuff the laces into one hand and push up against Rufus’ back. He clapped his hand over Rufus’ mouth and nose; Rufus twisted sharply and Cloud kicked his right leg out from under him so all of Rufus’ weight went back against Cloud.

“ _Stop_.” Cloud clamped his hand down harder against Rufus’ face. He pressed his mouth against the pulse in Rufus’ neck, then behind Rufus’ ear. Then he stepped back and removed his hand. “Now breathe.”

“I was laughing,” Rufus said a moment later, when Cloud was able to go back to lacing. “Trying to. I’m not surprised.”

“You shouldn’t be, of all people.” The laces done, Cloud reached for the leather straps. Four of them crossed the laces, extra insurance, black with silver buckles. They slid through Cloud’s fingers like butter. “Turn around.”

Rufus turned, keeping his hands on the post behind him. He blinked a few times before he could help it, starting to lose his struggle to keep his breathing even. The white silk slung around his body, turning the lines from athletic to willowy. Dark blue darts angled up from the bottom, the thin triangles highlighting the sharp nip at the waist, and the waver of the hanging black laces down behind him, visible between his legs, was a tempting call.

“How does it look?” Rufus asked. 

“Your tailor is good,” Cloud said. He turned back to the bed and pulled over another box. This one held a pair of long white leather sleeves that ended in slim mitts. He picked them out of their tissue bed and shook them a little; a light cloud of powder rose into the air, showing they’d been prepped for immediate use.

Rufus was already holding out his arms, his eyes narrowed. He held his tongue till Cloud had laced both sleeves up—black laces to match the corset—then stretched his arms before him and looked down at them. He ran one hand up to where the sleeve ended just above the elbow, then flexed the mitts that imprisoned his fingers. The leather had enough give in it so that he could almost make a fist, but no more. He spent a few seconds trying anyway, the mitt rippling as he tried to push up individual fingers. “Interesting. More effective than I’d presumed, considering how decorative they look. I have a light-fingered subordinate who might benefit from these.”

“Give him your tailor’s address,” Cloud suggested. The glove box had a few loose black leather straps that he collected.

Snorting, Rufus leaned back against the post. He allowed Cloud to bend his arms behind him and use the straps to bind his arms. The rings on the gloves matched rings on the corset, one set above the elbow, another at the wrist to cross them over the small of the back. He had had an erection for some time now and he shifted his hips to drag the tip of his cock across Cloud’s thighs. One roll took it up the inseam of Cloud’s trousers to press right into Cloud’s own erection.

“So,” Rufus said, his mouth to Cloud’s ear, letting his voice ride a gasp, “Shall I—”

Cloud dropped to his knees and shoved Rufus’ hips hard into the post. He swallowed Rufus’ cock till his nose was digging into the man’s groin, one hand already working over Rufus’ scrotum, fingers cupping the back while his thumb pushed and rubbed and teased the front. Rufus choked, twisted, and then choked again. Cloud could hear the corset creaking as the man above him struggled against its confines, could hear the slap of the gloves against the post. He sucked harder. It didn’t seem like he needed to hold Rufus back so he took the hand pinning back Rufus’ hip and pushed its knuckles up against Rufus’ perineum, twisting till he found the spot and the angle that had the man doubling over on top of him.

It didn’t take that long for Rufus to come, which he did with a surprised cry. Cloud sat back on his heels, let Rufus realize that he was falling and that he didn’t have the strength to prevent it, and then caught the man’s hips between his hands before that happened. He held Rufus against the bedpost for a moment, watched him, half-suffocated and dazed, and then pushed him up the post and onto the bed. 

Rufus sprawled ungracefully, already listing, and Cloud took him by the shoulder and forced him to sit up. The footboard was too low to support him so Cloud hauled up one of Rufus’ legs and turned him to lean against the post again. Rufus stared up at him, panting roughly. His eyes were still wide with shock.

“This was never going to fit otherwise,” Cloud said, picking up the next box. He made short work of the ribbon holding it shut and pulled out the cock sheath and ball harness.

There was still spit on Rufus’ cock when he reached for it. He stopped, looked around, and picked up one of the pieces of tissue paper.

When he moved it, Rufus’ knees twitched as if the man meant to shut them. Cloud stopped and Rufus made a strangled, low noise in his throat, twisting slightly at the waist, rolling his shoulders. He bit his lip, looking at Cloud. He almost looked like he was going to say something, but instead he angled his knees out.

His cock was still sensitive and the rasp of the tissue paper bothered him, his hips making tiny aborted movements. He occasionally grunted to cover a noise he was stifling. Cloud shrugged and drew the edge of the tissue paper across the head of his cock; soft as the paper was, it could’ve cut skin if Cloud had done it a little faster. Rufus pulled at his arm bindings but kept on with the shut mouth.

He inhaled sharply at the first touch of the cock sheath. The sleeve was white lace with a backing of gauzy white silk, translucent enough so that Cloud could still see the faint lines of the veins underneath. It wrapped around the cock and laced up the underside, so tightly that the flesh bulged a little in between the lace florets. Black leather straps further tightened it just behind the head of the cock and at the base—there was a touch of whine to Rufus’ breathing—and then another strap went around the bottom of Rufus’ scrotum, pushing his balls away from his body. The balls themselves were encased in a similar net of lace backed with silk gauze. Cloud fondled them, feeling the heat rising up through the thin fabric, and Rufus writhed, hissing, before furiously pressing himself back against the bedpost.

“You ordered that, too,” Cloud said, amused. Rufus glared at him.

The next box had a large, ridged plug in it. Cloud put it on the palm of his hand, then turned it so it laid lengthwise. Ivory, nice and cool here but inside it’d be hard and unyielding.

He looked up as the sheets rustled. Rufus was slowly pulling his other leg up onto the bed, working carefully on the slippery sheets and the detritus of empty boxes and wrapping paper. The man got his knees under him, then eased them apart as he bent over.

Rufus flinched when Cloud just touched him, fingertips to the swell of one cheek, just shy of the hip. To make up for it, he pushed back aggressively when Cloud grasped both cheeks of his ass, almost doing the work for Cloud to spread them, but then he jumped at the puff of breath on his hole. As was the fashion, even in the mainstream these days, he’d shaved his whole groin, possibly used depilatory creams too, and only down here did that icy paleness warm up, taking on soft rose tones in the cleft of his buttocks and down his perineum, a redder, angrier flush where the leather bit around the base of his scrotum.

Cloud let his buttocks go and dug in the boxes again, coming up with a small vial of oil. It was scented but slightly, just enough of a trace to tease the nose, make one think of night flowers and damp, warm earth. He remembered Aeris complaining to him about trade routes all of a sudden—vetiver.

A sharp cough recalled Cloud. He blinked as Rufus raised his hips impatiently, then grinned sourly. The man wasn’t even bothering to look back. They were a bit farther in than Cloud had figured on, for that.

But that wasn’t his fault. He shrugged and tipped the oil onto his fingers, then bent over Rufus. One finger, nothing. Two, nothing. Two and Cloud’s thumb gently sliding along Rufus’ perineum, which still would be tender from Cloud’s treatment earlier, and Rufus began to lose the rhythm of his breathing, but he soon corrected himself. Quick study. Or Cloud hadn’t laced the corset tight enough.

Three fingers and Cloud bent forward to lick at the oil squeezing out from around them, worming his tongue at the stretched rim of Rufus’ hole. Rufus hissed again and Cloud pulled his fingers out, then pushed the plug in so quickly Rufus didn’t have time to tense. Then he did, his body catching up and then blowing past his mind, and his ass was shuddering around the plug, clenching and gripping even as he was clearly struggling to relax. He was starting to pant again, ragged almost-noises slipping in between breaths.

“Roll over,” Cloud said, and Rufus’ head and shoulders jerked up as if he’d forgotten Cloud was there. 

Cloud followed it up with a pull at Rufus’ thigh and Rufus flopped onto his back with a gasp, twisting his heels into the bed. His cock slapped against one leg, deep flushed head atop the pale lace-wrapped length and pale thigh, and he moaned, then couldn’t quite recover himself.

Thin white silk panties went on, Cloud careful to tuck cock and scrotum securely in. They were cut high over the hips and narrowed to a thin strip in the back that virtually disappeared between Rufus’ buttocks. Then a white lace collar, two inches thick, with a black silk ribbon lacing up the back. And a slinky deep blue silk dress that made Rufus look twice.

Before he could look a third time, Cloud pulled him off the bed and onto his feet. He swayed alarmingly and Cloud jerked him upright. As soon as he let go, Rufus stumbled forward a pace, then caught himself. He shot a wary look at Cloud, who just stood with the dress slung over one arm. After a moment, Rufus managed to steady himself enough for Cloud to help him step into the dress.

It was strapless, rising over the corset to just cover his nipples—Cloud thumbed each, smoothing the silk over them, and Rufus savaged his lip accordingly—and zipping up in the back. Cloud had to unhook Rufus’ arms from the corset, but he left the wrists clipped to each other. The skirt curved sharply along the thighs, gathering in at the knees. There was a wide black ribbon hanging off the back of the waist and Cloud picked up both ends, carefully untwisting till the ribbon was flat. He pulled them around to the front. “It’s a hobble skirt,” he said, seeing Rufus looking down at the ribbon. “See?”

He wrapped the ribbon around Rufus’ hips and thighs, crossing and recrossing it in back and forth. There were thin thread loops at regular intervals along the side seams to guide the ribbon and he used them, slowly pulling the ribbon through each and then tight against the skirt. When he reached Rufus’ knees and the last set of loops, he ran the ribbon through the loops twice and then tied a bow in the back, over a secure knot.

Cloud got back up and looked over the bed. He took off all the boxes to be sure, then looked at Rufus. “No shoes?”

“Did you wish to take me outside?” Rufus said, slow, through gritted teeth.

After a moment, Cloud tossed the boxes into the corner. He absently dusted his hands on his hips, ignoring Rufus’ question, and then went into the bathroom again.

The sink had drained but the dirty water had left a half-dried ring around it. He scrubbed at it half-heartedly with his fingers, then left it and turned the shower on. He stripped while the water was warming up, then stepped inside. Palmed his cock with a handful of massage oil till that was no longer paining him, then got on with really cleaning himself.

It took three passes before he felt that he’d gotten all the grit out of his hair, and then he sluiced it a fourth time just because it felt so good to have hot, endless water streaming through it. His muscles began to unknot, even the incorrigible one right between his shoulderblades. He’d still probably have to beg Tifa to pummel his back a few times to really set it right, but it was on its way.

Then the towels. Honestly, where Aeris got them, Cloud didn’t know, but he’d gladly mastermind a revolt for her just to keep them coming. It was a little silly, probably, but sometimes he thought about just piling them up on the floor and going to sleep right there.

They’d remembered to lay him out a set of clothes. Not another one of those fancy outfits Aeris kept trying to shove onto him, although the shirt was linen and button-down and normally he didn’t do either. Still, it was plain and dark gray, and he looked at it for a moment, then wrapped a fresh towel around his waist and went back into the bedroom.

Rufus was half-lying on the bed, his legs hanging off the edge like he’d been sitting and then had tipped himself over onto his side. He started when he saw Cloud, almost falling off, and then made a few failed attempts to pull himself up. Cloud sighed and came over and helped him, and earned himself a hard stare.

“All right, then,” Cloud said, turning around.

“Wait!” Then Rufus cursed, jerking himself back onto the bed. He squirmed, not even trying not to, but very much trying to keep from falling on his face. “Wait, wait—please.”

Cloud stopped. He watched Rufus frown, arch his brows and then took another step back towards the bathroom.

Rufus dropped the deliberations and slid off the bed and awkwardly to his knees. “Wait, please— _please._ ”

He was still struggling with his balance when Cloud moved forward, just close enough for one sway to let Rufus’ head brush Cloud’s leg. Rufus shivered, then twisted himself to press his face into Cloud’s thigh. He was shaking, perspiration running down his bare upper back, and the blue of his dress wasn’t quite dark enough to hide the damp stains from the sweat.

“Please,” he said. He paused, then pushed his head tentatively upward till Cloud stopped him just short of Cloud’s groin by putting a hand on the back of his neck. “Please.”

“Please what?” Cloud said.

Rufus made a furious, low noise in his throat. His back was stiff with humiliation. “Please—stay.”

He made an attempt to nose at Cloud’s cock through the towel and Cloud pushed his head down. “Why?”

Half a curse made it out before Rufus bit down, his teeth audibly clicking. He shook his head against Cloud’s leg; Cloud picked at the laces of Rufus’ collar, tugging at them, and then ran his thumb along the bottom edge of the collar. Rufus breathed in shallowly, the air whining through his mouth.

“Please—stay. Because—please—I want you to,” he finally choked out. He shuddered viciously, his chin digging hard into Cloud’s thigh, even with the thickness of the towel. “Please. Please.”

Cloud stroked one bare shoulder, swirling his fingers idly over the point. “What do you want me to do, if I stay?”

Rufus looked up at him. Angry. Cloud caught him under the jaw and held his head up, making him show the quick bleed into need. “Take this damn dress off,” Rufus said.

“Why the hell do I have to do that?”

“Because I want you to fuck me and—”

Cloud snorted and pushed Rufus back by the jaw. In the same motion he dropped to his knees. He slid his arm around Rufus’ waist and pulled the man across his lap, his hand cupping one buttock and then pressing into the silk folds of the dress till he’d found the bump of the plug. Rufus arched, crying out, tipping his head back against Cloud’s shoulder. Cloud dipped under the man’s chin and nipped at the vulnerable underside of the jaw, pressed hot kisses to the lace stretched over Rufus’ bobbing gorge, kept rocking the plug inside the other man. He had to use his other hand to pin Rufus’ knees to keep Rufus on his lap, Rufus writhed so much.

“I don’t have to take it off to fuck you,” Cloud said, licking up Rufus’ jaw. He avoided Rufus’ panting, eager mouth. “Try again.”

“You son of a—” Rufus’ lashes fluttered wildly, his legs straining at the ribbon that bound them shut. He bit at Cloud’s neck and Cloud jerked his head up from where he’d been sucking Rufus’ nipple through the dress, forcing Rufus off. “I’ll have you—”

“I could gag you. Enough ribbons left over from all those boxes.” Cloud twisted Rufus around to face forwards, dragging his hand around Rufus’ hip to the man’s groin. He rubbed the heel of his hand into the groove between Rufus’ legs, teasing the cock bound in there, under layers of silk, and made sure Rufus was sitting with his weight pressing the plug into Cloud’s thigh. “Or, you know, I could leave. I’ve got other things to do.”

Rufus gasped. “I hate you.”

“We don’t even know each other,” Cloud pointed out. He reached up and pinched a nipple.

Moaning, Rufus arched into the pain. He started to rock mindlessly on Cloud’s lap, then whined in protest when Cloud slipped an arm under his thighs and lifted them so he didn’t have the leverage. He made a couple sharp, strangled noises, then slumped back against Cloud. “Damn—damn it, please, I want—the dress, I want—”

“What?” Cloud said.

“Untie my legs,” Rufus finally said, in a sudden rush. His voice hitched, a little more than just a gasp, and for a moment he was silent. He bucked sharply, then again, and then he groaned like Cloud had just stabbed him. “Untie them. Please. It—I need you, untie them, I need to open them. I—my cock, please.”

Cloud hummed approvingly against the side of Rufus’ face and pulled him further up to reach the bow at Rufus’ knees. “What about it?”

“It hurts,” Rufus said, almost whispering. He bit at his lip, tensing when he felt Cloud’s hand at his knees, then opened his mouth in a long, low moan when the ribbon loosened. “It hurts. It’s—between my legs and—oh, _oh_ , please.”

“Did you even try walking around?” Cloud said, though he was still pulling at the ribbon. “Really see what a hobble skirt’s like?”

Rufus twisted against him, legs jerking as every loop of ribbon fell away. “One—a few steps. It hurt. It pushes—every step—my cock into—my thighs—I can’t, please, I have to—I need to come. Please, just take it off.”

“It is off.” Cloud held up the ribbon till Rufus looked up at it. He locked his arm around Rufus’ waist and then rubbed the ribbon over Rufus’ shoulders, dipping in between them to tease at his nipples, and up over his throat to his mouth. Briefly over his eyes, while Rufus’ legs tried to spread in the narrow skirt. “Did you mean something else?”

“The under—underwear,” Rufus moaned. “Damn it, push up the skirt and—please.”

He was probably going to rip the skirt if Cloud didn’t. Cloud dropped the ribbon and unzipped the back of the dress; they maybe could’ve worked the skirt up with some patience, but Cloud had spent enough time waiting on Rufus.

Just Rufus’ writhing alone got the dress to slide most of the way, once the zipper was down. He kicked it off and then spread his legs, lifting his hips to try and get Cloud to hurry up. Cloud played with him a little, tracing the outline of Rufus’ cock and balls against the outside of the panties, while Rufus begged and pleaded for him to just rip it off. Rufus was getting better at that by the second.

“You’ve got to close your legs,” he finally told the man. “Or else I can’t pull them down.”

“Just—”

“I’m not going to rip them off,” Cloud said. “They look good on you. You spent the money.”

A flicker of self-possession came into Rufus’ eyes, like he was going to go back to talking about ordering them. Then it went and he closed his eyes and dropped his head against Cloud’s shoulder. He shivered once, his knees jerking convulsively apart, twice, and then he pulled his legs together barely enough, whimpering into Cloud’s neck.

For that, Cloud didn’t make a production of pulling off of the panties. All the friction of Rufus moving around on him had restored his erection anyway, and the towel between them was rapidly feeling more and more like torture itself.

The moment he could, Rufus spread his legs again. He hissed as Cloud pushed them up, winkling the towel out from between them, then sucked his breath in between his teeth when Cloud tugged on the plug. “Please take it out,” he said. “Put your cock in, please, please.”

“All right,” Cloud said, and then hissed himself as he pushed into Rufus. Tight, even after the plug. He had to hold Rufus by both hips to keep him from moving around. Even then, the tips of Rufus’ gloved fingers managed to work in between them, brushing frantically over Cloud’s stomach and down to the edge of his groin. “Fuck.”

“ _Please_ yes,” Rufus breathed. “Please, now, my cock, please, undo it. Take it off, please, oh, I can’t, please, I need it, need you to, please.”

Cloud bit Rufus’ shoulder. He needed a moment. Rufus’ begging cut off in a high, wavering cry, and Cloud got himself together enough to get a hand between Rufus’ legs. He undid the strap behind the head of Rufus’ cock, and the one around the base of Rufus’ scrotum. Then he slid his hand further back, ignoring Rufus’ disappointed whine, and cupped Rufus’ balls, massaging the loose lace net against them. Rufus rolled his hips, jerky, frantic, and then somehow found the strength to push himself up. Cloud let him get as high as he could before hauling him sharply down by the waist, making Rufus cry out again. He bit Rufus’ other shoulder, then left off teasing Rufus’ balls in favor of holding his hips and tilting Rufus forward till his chest hit the side of the bed. His cock slid halfway out and Rufus moaned, shook his head, tried to clench his ass to keep it in. 

“Please _fuck_ me,” Rufus was saying. “Please, just—anything, _anything_ , just do something!”

“Yeah.” Cloud got up on his knees, slid firmly back into Rufus, and got a good grip on the man. “Yeah, all right.”

He fucked Rufus in earnest then. No more diversions, just hard, sharp thrusts, the press of flesh into flesh. Rufus shook and begged and then buried his face in the bed when Cloud came. It staggered Cloud for a moment. He blinked hard, slowing, and then got hold of himself and resumed fucking Rufus as his cock softened. Rufus sobbed, a truly desperate note to it, and Cloud leaned forward, pressed a kiss to one heaving shoulder. Then reached around and pulled that last strap free from Rufus’ cock.

Rufus arched hard, spilling all over Cloud’s hand, and then heaved himself up and back so he laid against Cloud instead of the bed as he collapsed. He sobbed again, a ragged scratchy sound deep in his throat; Cloud kissed his temple, not quite thinking about it, and Rufus turned his head. Cloud was a little slow so Rufus caught the edge of his mouth. There was a pause in Rufus’ panting, and then the man sank back, letting his face rest against Cloud’s shoulder.

* * *

“I ordered a white dress,” Rufus said, looking levelly at Cloud. His voice was raspy but calm.

Cloud had given them five minutes to rest, which was one minute less than Rufus needed. When he’d started moving, Cloud had let go and gotten up, and went back to the bathroom to wipe down and dress. He used the black pants they’d left out but put the gray buttondown away in favor of a black wifebeater he’d dug out of his pack. Then he’d come back, helped Rufus out of the gloves and watched as Rufus had gingerly moved himself to the bed. Still wearing the corset and collar, with come drying on the inside of his thighs.

“I usually ask for a blue one,” Cloud finally said. He poured them some water and handed Rufus his glass, then sat down on the bed by the other man. “Don’t worry, Aeris would’ve just swapped them, not ditched it. She has your dress somewhere. So what does Shinra want with me when you’ve got homegrown mages?”

Rufus drank a few swallows, then handed the glass back to Cloud. He grimaced, flexed his wrist and elbow, and then grimaced again. “You’re not a mage. And I’m not here to recruit you to Shinra.”

“You just came for the fuck?” Cloud said. He propped up the base of his glass on his knee, watching Rufus shiver in the reflection on the water.

Rufus blinked a few times. He started to speak once, then abruptly looked away. For that moment he looked very young, not quite the coldblooded heir of the greatest of the plains city-states. He rubbed two of his fingers against his thumb, almost as if he were going to snap them, and then flattened his hand against his knee and looked back at Cloud. “No, but if I want that now?”

“With what else?” Cloud drank his water.

“You had to have heard. There was an incident with our three top generals,” Rufus said flatly. “They’re supposedly stable again, but I’ve reason to believe that’s not true.”

“Three twelfth-level mages going berserk and your father somehow doesn’t get killed,” Cloud said dryly. “Still, I think you’ve got better options than thinking you make a good honeypot lure.”

Rufus’ mouth twitched; Cloud couldn’t tell if it was in amusement or anger. “I’m well aware that you aren’t an assassin,” he said. He tilted his head, then carefully, deliberately, put his hands down on the bed. He paused, then pulled his legs up onto the mattress and moved so his weight was resting on his hip and his hands, his body angled towards Cloud so the bottom of the corset dug into his waist. “I admit I arranged this with Miss Gainsborough so I could speak to you. But I wanted to speak to you on my own behalf, not on my father’s and not on Shinra’s. I’ve left Midgar.”

“Clearly. We’re sitting at the foot of the Nibel mountains now,” Cloud said.

“I’m moving here,” Rufus went on. He pulled himself a little closer to Cloud. “I have a great deal of money, the resources to continue to make it, a few loyal bodyguards, and all the weapons that we could carry out of Midgar, but you know and I know that that’s not enough.”

Cloud raised an eyebrow. “Not enough to survive? Not enough to take over this town, if you haven’t already?”

“I’m not stupid. And given what we just went through in Midgar, I’d have to be past stupid and well into monumentally self-destructive to try and take a town from its self-appointed guardian,” Rufus said. His lips thinned a little, uncertainty strangely peeking through, and then he suddenly sat up and grabbed Cloud’s arm, nakedly desperate. “If any one of the generals come after me, they’ll burn through my guards in a heartbeat, and I don’t think they’ll come in ones. I want protection—I wanted protection. Now I want that and I want you.”

“I’m not—” _Its guardian_ , Cloud almost said, but he’d just _had_ that damn argument with Aeris on the doorstep, only a few hours before.

Rufus was curling up against him, soft flesh cinched into the silk rigidity of the corset. “Please,” he said. “You only have to watch against them. Anything else, my bodyguards should handle. If I die because they fail, you’ll have nothing to do with it. And I do want you. I…have never…”

“Done something like this,” Cloud said, pulling at the corset. Incredibly enough, Rufus flushed. Just a little, and the set of his head and the steadiness of his gaze didn’t change at all, but he did. It was disturbingly attractive. “I noticed. Not that bright an idea, if you’re so worried about living.”

“Not something most people would point out to me,” Rufus retorted. He shifted onto his knees, leaned closer, pulled at Cloud’s arm so Cloud’s hand moved off the corset and onto his thigh. He shivered when Cloud’s fingers drifted over a sore spot. “I know you don’t kill the way the generals do, and I know you hire yourself out on occasion. And you know I’ll be honest with you.”

Cloud pulled his hand back. “I made you do that, Shinra.”

Rufus shrugged. “I learn. Next time—”

“Next time?”

“Next time,” Rufus said firmly. “Next time. I’ll wear the white dress, and I’ll have shoes. Heels, with ribbons up to my knees. And you’ll wrap ribbons around my eyes and mouth, and you’ll lead me out into that parlor downstairs, and have tea with Miss Gainsborough while I kneel at your feet, at your mercy, at your pleasure. I’m kneeling now to you, and I won’t rise till you tell me and you will, because you don’t leave people on their knees—”

His mouth. Cloud took it, held it open with one hand on Rufus’ jaw and the other splayed over Rufus’ cheek, and he took it and Rufus moaned and clung to him and of course he took it.

* * *

Cloud fucked Rufus on the bed, then took the corset and collar off him. They cleaned themselves up and Rufus made himself far too comfortable in one of the sleek kimonos that the courtesans used, and then they went downstairs. Rufus made that gesture again, two fingers rubbing against a thumb, then turned it into a true fingersnap and a large black hound came bounding into the room. It regarded Cloud with a flat, thoughtful look that was entirely too like its master, then nosed into Rufus’ hand.

Rufus’ guards showed up almost at the same time, three men and two women. He’d seduced away part of the Turk elite—at least a tenth-level mage, a domesticated incubus and succubus, some kind of oni admixture, and a very young…something. The blonde woman was a difficult one to pinpoint and Cloud caught Aeris grinning at him out of the corner of his eye. He took the point, went over to her and made his own. “Do you hate me?”

“Don’t be silly, Cloud,” she said serenely, handing him a cup of tea. “He’s genuinely in need of sanctuary or else I never would’ve let him in. And he does like you, I see.”

“I just got back.” He just held the tea.

Frowning, Aeris took back the tea. She slipped a silver flask out of the folds of her dress, added a shot from it, and then turned and handed the tea to Cid, who’d sloped up behind to glower at the Turks and mutter something about a herald at the front gate. Then she smiled pleasantly at Cloud. “If you’re going to be blockheaded about this, of course you don’t get any of the good stuff.”

“Is there something I can help with?” Rufus said, looking over.

“Oh, the mayor sent someone to call on you,” Aeris told him. “Probably a dinner invitation. He’s also one of the largest sellers of property around.”

Rufus nodded. At least he wasn’t making the error of underestimating her—he wouldn’t, Cloud scolded himself, he’d been nothing but clever so far. Damn it. “I suppose I should accept the invitation, but for the moment I don’t see the need for grand lodgings. It seems wise to shrink our footprint, and I can certainly manage without all the trappings my father requires.”

“You know I bunk here when I’m in town?” Cloud said. “In that room.”

“It’s a nice room,” Rufus said slowly. His mage was also looking at Cloud, with a distinctly chilly air. “Just that room?”

“You also have the place next door, which you never use and which I spend a lot of money maintaining anyway,” Aeris said. She prodded Cloud’s ankle with her foot. “You know. That one.”

The incubus let out an incredulous laugh. “What, that giant stone thing? Because the other side’s a graveyard, so—”

“It’s convenient,” both Aeris and Cloud said.

After a moment, the incubus stopped laughing. He eyed them both warily before suddenly ducking behind the oni. “Motherfucking creepy shit, seriously? This is better than Midgar?” he hissed, at a volume everyone was capable of hearing. Then he winced. “Ow, Rude.”

“Yes, the old keep. It used to be passed down from stormlord to stormlord, but since Cloud killed the last one, it’s his,” Aeris said sweetly.

“I don’t sleep there because one, it’s too big, and two, I use it for killing a lot.” Cloud stared at Aeris. “And sometimes the exorcisms take a while to work.”

“That would be very cruel to have to put up with, considering their long journey and what they’ve just come from. Oh, well, then I suppose you’ll have to make do with some of our spare rooms. I know it won’t be nearly what you’d have in Midgar, but I hope you’ll find it passable,” Aeris said cheerfully. She turned to Rufus, who said something flowery to the effect that that would be perfectly fine, thank you, and then, _finally_ , called up some servants and got them to take Rufus and his guards off to the damn spare rooms.

Cloud made her a cup of tea, with the sugar and cream as she liked it, and she hesitated for a good two seconds before rolling her eyes and taking it. “This isn’t really about him liking me,” Cloud said.

Aeris sighed. “I’m sorry you’re the type of guardian that’s designed to protect an entire city and therefore was meant to have a team to help spread the work around, and that that’s not necessarily what you think you want, but you _are_ lonely and you _do_ want company, and you damn well do not want a peaceful, uneventful life devoted to a single person. You’ve fucked here enough times for me to say that for sure. And you like him right back, otherwise you’d have been down here a lot earlier.”

“Not a guardian,” Cloud muttered. He dropped into the nearest chair and ran his hands over his face and back through his hair, then brought them back to press at his eyes. Then he sighed and looked up at her. “Tifa back?”

“Mmmm.” Aeris sat down on the low table across from Cloud and sipped her tea. “I think the mage is rather attractive, too. He’d look very nice in navy and silver.”

“Tenth level, kabuki training, willful enough to break off the city oaths, loyal enough to do it for Rufus. I think he wants to know how to kill me,” Cloud said.

“Of course he does, he’d be a terrible guard if he didn’t.” She swirled her cup in one hand, then frowned down at it. “I do hope they reopen the eastern passes again. The quality of the sugar in town is going down faster than I thought. Speaking of, I had a lovely little chat with Cissnei—the succubus, do you know, that pretty strawberry shade is natural?—about a new supplier for John the Conqueror. Apparently, they farm it in parts of western Corel.”

Cloud pursed his lips. “I’d really rather talk covert tactics with Tifa.”

“I’m not _just_ a madam, Cloud,” Aeris said.

“I know. I want to talk to her about it because she’s not going to land me with another city,” Cloud said.

Aeris stopped sipping her tea and looked at him for a moment, the laughter slipping out of her face. Then she smiled, a crooked little thing that had none of her usual light polish. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, and then got to her feet. “All right, I’ll go get her out of my bed. But you know, they aren’t lying about how awful it is in Midgar.”

“I know,” Cloud said, looking out the window. Evening was falling, a clear night sky with just a sliver of moon peeking over the rooftops. Peaceful. “I remember.”

* * *

Tifa laughed herself sick for the first few minutes, deep belly gusts that put her in real danger of toppling out of her chair. When she finally composed herself, she had to borrow Cloud’s napkin to wipe the tears out of her eyes.

“It’s…new?” she managed, voice still rough. She glanced at Cloud, coughed into the napkin, and then pulled herself up over her dinner plate. “Sorry. I’m sorry, really, but…I guess we haven’t tried that?”

Cloud snorted and finished off the last of his meat. He’d not seen Rufus since, though he’d heard and seen plenty of servants scurrying around with furniture and linens and guessed that the man was making himself at home. It’d given him some time to sit with it, and be annoyed with himself for even reacting—to the truly tactical part of it—and then think good and long about how much it was really going to hurt him.

“Take it they don’t remember,” Tifa said. She poked at the remainder of her vegetables, then picked up a roll and tore it in two. The roll was still warm enough that the butter pats inserted inside were runny, sending slick yellow trails over her fingers that she licked unashamedly at. “Good. Didn’t want to deal with that. Also, my ribs still hurt from that brawl I told you about in the mines, and Rude looks like he’ll be a handful.”

“Him this time?” Cloud said. He handed her the cloudberry jam she liked.

Tifa nodded her thanks and then tilted her head. “Reno looks pretty good, too, but I guess we’ll see whether this time around they’re a package deal again. He seems to show up often enough in your bed, too.”

“What about Elena?” Cloud asked, recalling the muddled reading he’d had.

“Necromancer, maybe? Still need a chance to talk to her. They only showed up today, you know, and I’m not you.” Tifa abruptly went silent, staring at the butterflied roll in her hands. The jam was the wrong color but it was sticky and clotted, and too late Cloud remembered the last life.

Tifa would’ve remembered immediately, an involuntary reflex and one that they couldn’t train out of her or block. In the very early days it’d nearly gotten her killed a few times, seeing two lives mashed over the top of each other like paintings pressed together with the paint still wet, bleeding till everything was just uselessly blurred. She’d at least figured out to hold them separate but it was a constant, conscious fight—like having one life in one eye and another in the other, she’d told Cloud once.

He didn’t remember the same. If you lived through it all, you remembered like anyone else, it seemed. Time or desire could soften the memory, fade it, or make it slash bright and clear. But dying and then being born and having your past lives crash into your mind one day, everything at once—he’d not done much to help Tifa with that. He hadn’t known how—had never been good at that sort of battle, had never learned too much from his own experiences. She’d fought through it on her own. 

“She doesn’t remember, but maybe she…died or something,” Tifa finally said. “I don’t feel it, and if you’re confused it must have been something really unusual, but she’s got this edge I sometimes see in the mirror. Anyway, I’ll see.” She shook herself, brisk and quick, and then resumed eating the roll as if nothing had happened. “When do you think they’ll send someone?”

“Probably soon. I don’t think Rufus is _hiding_ here.” Cloud pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. “Last I heard, Nanaki was out in the canyons again. It’ll take him two or three weeks to get here.”

Tifa raised her brows. “You’d want him to come and deal with this time? I thought you said he deserved a break.”

Two lives ago, when nearly half of Nanaki’s tribe had been wiped out in the aftermath. Nanaki had never even hinted at it, but it seemed absurd that he still had to split his life between helping Cloud and trying to keep his people from extinction. He had them to take care of and they needed him to be there; once Cloud had stopped the latest monster or madman or whatever it was, it wasn’t like people looked to him to arrange for shelter and food and everything else you needed to run a society allowing for the birth and raising of children. Even when he’d been more involved, everyone had always understood where his role was.

“He’d want to know. I’m not going to ask him but I think he’s going to come anyway. He always does if it’s Hojo,” Cloud finally said. “I think it’s the only thing he’s really vengeful about, actually. Sephiroth he blames on Hojo, too.”

“You think we’ll get him first, or one of the others?” Tifa asked. She reached for the bowl of fruit and tipped it towards him. When he refused, she pulled out an orange for herself and used the edge of her gauntlet to start the peel. “Aeris says she already sent a message to Vincent, but—”

“I’m not telling him where Lucrecia is.” Cloud slouched in his chair, fighting down the urge to kick at the table leg. It’d be petty and it really wasn’t petty; they’d managed to keep Lucrecia alive and even sane this time, but she’d been—she needed a life where she figured out who she was when she stopped working, stopped moving, stopped trying to shape everything else. And that wasn’t easy and leaving a child wasn’t either, let alone everyone and everything else you cared about, and Cloud didn’t blame her and he should be using his generations of memories to bury what Vincent had said to him about it. “For the last time.”

Tifa was looking at him oddly. “Not what I was going to say,” she finally shrugged. “Anyway. You know Lazard’s on inspections in Junon. If he knew anything we would’ve heard before Rufus even got on the road, and since we didn’t, he can’t dig into it till he gets back. Actually, you think we should warn him? Cid maybe can pull some strings. Or get Wallace on it, he’s got a team working in the underground channels anyway.”

“You can get whoever you think we need looking and listening,” Cloud told her. “I just need to know who shows up when.”

“Then why do we even talk about tactics, if I just end up taking care of them anyway?” Tifa sighed, getting to her feet. “Fine, then don’t blame me if Aeris gets involved.”

* * *

Rufus knocked on the door and waited patiently for Cloud to mark the spot in his book, get out of his chair, cross the room, and open the door. “I thought we should speak,” he said.

He was back in his white—no, it was a different white suit from before, simpler cut, thin linen instead of heavy wool. As he stepped over the threshold, he tugged off the jacket, rolling out one shoulder and then the other, and then pulling the sleeves over his hands. He looked around before carefully folding the jacket in two and hanging it over the back of a nearby chair.

The lines of the corset would have shown under that sort of shirt and they didn’t; the cloth of the trousers was heavy enough so that Cloud couldn’t make a similar call about what might be under there. He shut the door and leaned on it, watching Rufus let him appreciate the man’s backside. “I think it’s reasonable to get mad that your employer enhanced you without telling you the side effects include possible disintegration of your insides, and that you had to threaten to assassinate the ruler of Midgar to get a cure, _and_ that at the end of the day it was your civilian commander who got you that cure.”

Rufus spun sharply on his heel. He and Cloud eyed each other. His eyes were narrow and cool and not at all hiding his discomfort.

“I’m isolated, not uninformed,” Cloud said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You helped Lazard get it.” Rufus’ hands flexed a little by his sides, the fingertips just curling. Then he stalked forward, every inch of him taut with anger. “Do you visit him in Midgar? You have to, he’s never left long enough to come here. He must look ravishing in—”

Cloud reached out and hooked his fingers under Rufus’ tie, and jerked the man off his feet. Rufus’ hands swung out, then forward, and Cloud caught the right one, squeezing hard on the wrist. The sharp edges of Rufus’ cufflink cut even the tough skin of his palm. He squeezed harder and Rufus winced, dropping his free arm. Rufus breathed hard, his eyes burning. Then he set his shoulders and slowly, never looking away, went down on his knees, letting Cloud’s fingers drag out the tie till it slid free of his neck.

“Where did you get it?” Rufus asked after a moment. His voice was modulated to within an inch of its life. “The alchemists said it would take two months to make a cure, and I thought they were lying. I had it on good authority that they didn’t even know where to begin.”

“With the rest of my supplies for curing mages before they go insane and decide the best cure is killing everyone,” Cloud muttered. He grinned blackly at the expression Rufus made, letting go of Rufus’ wrist. He fingered the tie, then tossed it at Rufus’ jacket. “It’s not the first time somebody’s been that stupid. I’m just confused as to why you think they’re going to kill you for it. Far as I could tell, you didn’t know what Hojo was doing any more than anyone else there.”

Rufus looked a little more settled at that. He dropped his arm and rubbed absently at his wrist, then cocked his head. Then he raised his wrist to his mouth. His tongue flicked over the cufflink before his lips closed around the pearly chip. He sucked at it, pulled his arm away a little, and then turned his hand to spit the cufflink into his palm. The backing jittered out of his sleeve a second later.

“I don’t think they’re going to kill me for that. I think they’re going to kill me because I thought I’d try to win them over by offering protection from Hojo while they recovered.” He removed the other cufflink the same way and slipped both into the left pocket of his trousers. His eyes briefly dipped for that; when he looked back up, he blinked and then frowned, putting one hand on top of Cloud’s boot. “And I was genuine about keeping Hojo away from them. Unfortunately, my guards were infiltrated by my father, who was more interested in removing the part of their personality that would object to anything.”

“Doesn’t he need at least one heir?” Cloud asked.

“Not if he’s immortal,” Rufus replied. He rose up on his knees at Cloud’s grimace, then dropped hurriedly when Cloud looked at him, badly disguising his curiosity. “ _Is_ that possible? Wait—”

He stiffened when Cloud looked at him, but kept his grip on Cloud’s ankle. Cloud lifted his foot and Rufus’ grip didn’t slacken, though his shoulders were bracing for a blow. They shivered when Cloud instead reached down and pulled him to his feet. Rufus hesitated, eyes searching Cloud for a cue.

Cloud looked around. They’d cleaned up the boxes but there was a pile of ribbons on the table by the bed. He led Rufus over to the bed and began to pick through them, then looked over as Rufus’ arm tugged on his grip. Rufus sat slowly down on the edge of the bed, watching him.

“I’m going to tell Lazard,” Cloud said. He pulled one of the broader ribbons, at least an inch across, and then held up Rufus’ arm so the undone cuff flapped back. Rufus’ skin was slightly bruised around the wrist and the wisp of the ribbon over it made the other man bite his lip. “I’ve never met him, actually.” In this life. “But he’s been a good contact, and I think it’s better that he’s helping us.”

He wrapped a few loops over the wrist, then worked the ribbon over the forearm, crisscrossing it to just above the elbow, where he looped off the rest of the ribbon and tied it off. Rufus lifted his other arm, his eyes dark with intent. They still flicked uncertainly between Cloud’s face and his hands as he tied a second ribbon the same way around Rufus’ other arm. Then they fixed themselves to Cloud’s face when he pushed at Rufus’ shoulders.

Rufus leaned backwards till his back was flat against the bed, his arms out to the side and slightly angled away from him. He started to move them when Cloud straddled his waist, dropping a fistful of ribbons on his chest, but stopped at a look. His hips rose and a sharp hiss escaped his mouth as Cloud reached into his trouser pocket, and then he raised his brows as Cloud pulled out the cufflinks and carefully re-inserted them into the cuffs, tugging the sleeves down so they completely hid the ribbons on Rufus’ arms.

“After that, you can speak to me,” Cloud said, and then he twisted over and grabbed one of the bell-pulls hanging over the headboard.

It took a few minutes for Tifa to come up. Cloud occupied them with unzipping Rufus’ trousers. The man had nothing under them again—no toys or panties either. Just flesh that trembled at Cloud’s touch, Rufus inhaling sharply every now and then but not speaking. He let Cloud pull up his legs till his feet were flat on the bed, and lace ribbons around his ankles and instep, and then smooth his trousers back over them. His eyes closed when Cloud began twining the ribbon around his scrotum, stretching it away from his body, and then up the middle to press apart his balls. Cloud worked a last ribbon up the length of his cock, tighter at the base and just behind the head, and then pulled the final length across the head, over the slit.

Rufus’ eyes opened when Cloud tucked him back into his trousers and did them up. He opened his mouth and Cloud repositioned himself astride Rufus’ waist, ass pressing back onto Rufus’ bound cock. Rufus closed his mouth, lips in a tight line, and then Tifa came in.

She looked them over without breaking stride, then pulled off her boots and sat down on the opposite side of the bed, curling her feet under her. “Good timing,” she said. “Runners are going to take about an hour to arrange, if you’ve got something else to add.”

Tifa straightened up a bit at the news that the Midgar ruler thought he could become immortal, immediately agreeing that they should secure Lazard. They’d helped influence his current security detail, of course, and Junon was not loyalist territory either, which would buy them some time. But Tifa thought a messenger wouldn’t be sufficient.

“I have to go, damn it, Cloud,” she said. “It’s just as bad if they catch him running as if they catch him there, and do you really think he can manage his own disappearance?”

“And then you’re stuck halfway across the continent. It’ll take you too long to bring him back, and—”

“We didn’t even know Hojo was going after that!” Tifa snapped. “I get it, but I think that’s a risk we have to take. If he’s injecting it into the generals already—”

“Heidegger.” Rufus was very still under Cloud, his gaze very steady.

Tifa frowned. “What?”

After a moment, Cloud looked from her back to Rufus. The man was still looking at _him_ , so Cloud nudged his ribs with a knee. “Answer her.”

Rufus blinked. He opened his mouth, paused, and then turned his head just enough to look at Tifa. His arms moved and Cloud put his hands down on Rufus’ shoulders. Rufus stifled a crack in his composure but kept his face towards Tifa. “I think it’s Heidegger my father has on that. It’s certainly him and not Hojo who worked on the control implants.” His shoulders tensed as Cloud curled his fingers over them. “For the generals.”

Tifa only looked surprised for a second. Then she was all business, crisply interrogating Rufus about Heidegger’s role, the implants, and where the base research for the immortality source came from, since it certainly wasn’t Heidegger. Rufus appeared to be answering her honestly, to the best of his abilities. He did pause often, but that seemed to be more so he could determine how to condense the—impressively technical—knowledge he’d gained into simple terms, rather than from censoring himself.

He was also gradually relaxing, even going so far to share a snort with her about the frustration of paranoid scientists who refused to document their work in any written form. Cloud interjected a question at that point and Rufus twitched.

When he answered it, he was looking back at Cloud and so he missed the arched brow Tifa was giving Cloud. She kept it up as she asked her follow-up, then bit down on something smart as Cloud ran his hands lightly up and down Rufus’ upper arms. Rufus’ half-slackened limbs tensed immediately, and he swallowed noticeably before answering Tifa.

Cloud kept petting the man, letting Tifa take back the conversation, and after a while those tense muscles began to uncoil. He tested it with a brush of fingers over the side of Rufus’ neck. Color rose up past Rufus’ collar but he didn’t break the lengthy explanation he was giving Tifa about Lazard’s nighttime snacking habits.

Tifa lifted both brows at Cloud, then flicked her hand dismissively. “All right. I take your point about the travel time. I won’t go all the way over but I’ll meet them halfway, just in case. That way if I have to hurry back here, I can still make it.”

“Why don’t you take one of my men?” Rufus said. “Elena or Rude. They’ve both tailed Lazard before, they know him.”

“Not for this,” Tifa said after a moment’s consideration. She glanced at Cloud, and when he had nothing more, she began to slip off the bed. “No, thanks. But thanks. I’ll keep it in mind for the next time.”

Rufus frowned and turned his head to follow her. “But—”

He stopped when Cloud pressed both thumbs over his Adam’s apple, just enough to dig in. Tifa grinned, and as Cloud tilted Rufus’ face back towards him, she let herself out.

Cloud cradled Rufus’ jaw in his hands for a few seconds, watching the stifled emotions. Then he let go and sat back. “You wanted to talk about something?”

“I think we just did,” Rufus said slowly. He tilted his head, then pushed up his hips. His cock was hard. “Didn’t we?”

Shrugging, Cloud swung his leg over Rufus. He slid to the side of the bed, where he stopped long enough to pull off his boots and socks. Then he got up and crossed the room to where he’d left his book. He’d just picked it up when he heard the double thump of feet on the carpet.

Rufus stood stiffly by the bed. He stared a challenge at Cloud, brushing the wrinkles out of his clothes, tucking his shirt into his trousers, and then he stalked by Cloud. The chair with his jacket and tie was right on Cloud’s other side. He got the rest of his suit and turned for the door.

Cloud dropped the book and grabbed Rufus’ arm. To shake him off Rufus twisted slightly, which made it simple to hit his shoulder and keep him turning. His back hit the door, his hands gouging at Cloud’s arms as Cloud crushed their mouths together. 

“What—” Rufus said when Cloud backed off. His eyes narrowed against the hot lust in them. “I don’t—”

“Right, you think it’s just me jacking off,” Cloud said. He pried off Rufus’ hands and pinned them to the door, on either side of Rufus’ hips. “I should’ve just flipped up your legs and fucked you. Not even fucked you, just had your ass and then come all over your stomach. Your face. Your pretty suit.”

Rufus moaned and sagged in Cloud’s grip. His legs parted when Cloud nudged a knee between them, then tried to close. “What?” Rufus said, and it was still angry but this time it sounded like a _please_ , too. “What…”

Cloud pressed in, laid his face against Rufus’ throat. He nipped at the soft skin, then craned his head and ran his lips along the shell of Rufus’ ear. “Maybe, if you waited a fucking second, I’d tell you to bring yourself off. And you’d do it, you’d pull down your pants and spread your legs, and you’d fuck on your own fingers and pull at your cock, but I wouldn’t tell you to take the ribbons off yet. So you’d be fucking yourself and jacking yourself, and you’d get sore, your dick would be fire red with friction burns, but you wouldn’t come. You’d like that better?”

He pushed his knee in again and Rufus spread his legs, slumping down till he was riding Cloud’s thigh. “So what if I would?” Rufus suddenly said. “You’d like it.”

“You’d like it,” Cloud said. He knew Rufus heard the difference. “You’ve done that before. Something like that.”

Rufus’ lip curled. “Did you want a virgin?”

Cloud kissed him again. Less naked aggression, more tenderness. Rufus made it a game of escalating lewdness, his tongue dragging through Cloud’s mouth as Cloud snaked his hand down between them, pulled at clothing and then ribbons. The man got so involved in playing it he didn’t notice how long it was going, and Cloud had to just break it off. Rufus gasped, bucking violently, getting it _then_ but Cloud already had their mouths glued together again. Cloud could hold his breath a lot longer, and Rufus wasn’t going to get enough air through his nose.

Rufus fought, his free hand clawing up Cloud’s neck. When he drew blood, Cloud yanked his hand back down to the door and just ground their bodies together, using the twist of Rufus’ body against him. The moment he lifted his head, Rufus whiplashed and came, and couldn’t even scream because he needed to breathe _in_.

A couple more rubs and Cloud was off, too. He mouthed absently at Rufus’ neck, setting the man’s lolling head to bobbing over his shoulder, and then dragged himself against Rufus one last time to wipe off on Rufus’ trousers. Then he stepped back. He gave Rufus’ slow slide down the door a hand, steadying it enough to keep Rufus from cracking his head on something, and then fixed his clothes.

“I did want to talk about Heidegger. We’re really sure he’s not that great a scientist, and Hojo’s too paranoid to share,” Cloud said. “And what the hell would your father use as leverage with Hojo?”

Rufus sprawled on the floor like an unstrung marionette. He stared up at Cloud, absolutely blank-faced. Then he abruptly rose. He pulled his clothes around him with a kind of angry carelessness, making the lack of dignity another weapon, and left.

Aeris was going to make it an uncomfortable breakfast, Cloud thought. He mulled over going to talk to her now, then discarded it and picked up his book. It would’ve been awkward anyway; he had more urgent things to do. 

* * *

Rufus’ mage called on him in the morning, before breakfast.

Cloud hesitated in the doorway. The suits weren’t quite the same, he idly noted. Three buttons instead of two.

“I apologize for disturbing you so early in the day,” Tseng started.

“Hi, Tseng. Come in, Tseng.” Cloud leaned his forehead against the jamb for a second, then went back into the room. He pulled up another chair by the table where he’d been cleaning his smaller swords, then dropped into his chair. “Aeris or Rufus?”

Tseng didn’t look perturbed, but he shut the door and took his seat as if measuring up the approach to an assassination. He kept his powers so well-shielded he might as well have been one of the unlucky nulls with no magic. “I’m the bastard offspring of a ranking member in the Heike,” he said. He folded his hands lightly over the arms of the chair. “My father only ever saw me once, at my birth, but he was generous enough to arrange for my initial upbringing in one of the Yomi temples.”

That, Cloud hadn’t known. And Tifa had probably already left. He cast around for a delay, found his inner Aeris-voice mocking him mercilessly, and gave up and began putting his swords away. “Please don’t bow or call me—”

“I can see you’d prefer that association not be known,” Tseng said dryly. He indicated their surroundings with his eyes. “I will respect your wishes. My oaths to the temple predate my oath to Shinra.”

“What about your oath to Rufus?” Cloud asked. He studied the slight pulse in Tseng’s shielding. “If I have to stand against him, I wouldn’t need you to do it.”

“I appreciate that,” Tseng said after a moment, more softly. “Thank you.”

Cloud didn’t hide his grimace as he slid on the last scabbard. He opened his shielding just enough to dissolve the swords back into his magic, then slouched back in his chair. “I can’t grant him my favors at your request, either.”

“I wouldn’t presume to request such an arrangement on his behalf.” Tseng offered Cloud a thin but amused smile. “He runs his own life. I merely enable.”

“Enable,” Cloud repeated.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Tseng seemed perfectly at ease with it, and willing to wait for Cloud to set its ending.

“What are you asking for, then?” Cloud said.

“The keep next door,” Tseng answered. Quick, but not so quick as to seem concerned. Merely interested. “I’d like a tour. And I’d like to speak with you about the wards. I mean no disrespect, but simply wish to offer my observations from our—recent encounters with the generals.”

A security check, essentially. Cloud stood up and paced across the room, then returned at a slightly slower pace. Tseng hadn’t made a flicker of movement and he didn’t even turn his head now, even with Cloud stopping only inches behind his chair. This close, the man couldn’t hide the wash of magic around him. It rippled a little as Cloud pushed his hand through it, not hostile but certainly more nervous than Tseng’s relaxed stance would suggest.

“Enabling,” Cloud said. He settled his hand high on Tseng’s left shoulder. “You’re afraid of them.”

“I am,” Tseng said. His calm voice was a little strained. “I…what we saw. What’s been done to them. I will not pretend that I was ever close to any of them, but they had some sense of…humanity before. And now—”

The door opened. Rufus began to lower the hand he’d had up to knock on it, only to freeze when he saw them. The shoulder under Cloud’s hand jerked sharply; Cloud had already sealed all of Tseng’s power, but that took a second to register. The sudden loss of _sense_ , which magic was in a mage of Tseng’s level, and then the disorientation that came with it not being sight or hearing or any single sense that was lost, but a jarring combination of all of them.

Cloud leaned down. Tseng could still move his body if he wanted, but he let Cloud put his mouth to his ear. “I don’t want you to bow or use titles only because I don’t care for them,” Cloud murmured. He straightened up, letting the motion pull his hand onto the back of Tseng’s neck. “Did you want something?”

Rufus took an uncertain step into the room. He sent a quick, stuttering glance to the side, where Cloud had refolded his jacket and tie over a chair, and then looked straight at Cloud. His dignity was a little shaky to assemble around him, but seemed steeled enough. “I…was rude last night. I apologize.”

“Why?” Cloud said.

“I asked you for something,” Rufus said slowly. He couldn’t help another look at Tseng. He twitched when the door shut on its own behind him, but took a few more steps forward. “And then I dismissed it when you gave me what I asked for.”

“Oh, that.” Cloud couldn’t help _his_ grin at the way Rufus tightened his jaw. The man was tempting when he was confused. “I have bad etiquette. Never really been able to make myself get better at it.”

“Still, that doesn’t excuse my manners.” Rufus drew up a few feet short of Tseng’s chair, and drew up that composure of his as his eyes dropped to the floor.

He started sharply when Cloud jerked Tseng out of the chair by the neck. Tseng inhaled once, rough and jittery, grabbing at one of the chair arms. Cloud pulled again and Tseng let go of the chair and sank down on his knees.

“Sit,” Cloud said, nodding at the vacated chair. He tightened his hand on Tseng’s neck for a second, then let go and went back to his seat. “I was just telling Tseng that I’m not going to use his old training to make him kill you. Should say that doesn’t mean I won’t use it at all.”

Rufus sat. He was staring at Cloud the entire time, and even though he moved as slow as molasses, he still managed to press his weight down on a tender spot. His lips twitched and he shifted awkwardly onto his other hip. “How old are you?” he abruptly said.

“Old enough to end up playing god a couple times, once in Wutai,” Cloud said. He gestured at the room. “Old enough to do these wards. You’re in here, you get whatever I want you to get of what’s outside. You’re outside, it’s the same. Tseng’s got a point, though. We should talk about whether Heidegger’s managed to come up with something that’d fuck even these up, and I still want to know what your father’s got on Hojo.”

At that point he unsealed Tseng’s powers. The other man rocked hard and had to put down both hands to steady himself. Rufus’ eyes almost flicked to him. Tseng exhaled roughly, leaning on his hands. He pushed up a little, paused, and then dragged his right hand around till he could grip the table leg. He used that to lean on as he lifted his head and met Cloud’s eyes.

“I get the games,” Cloud said. He hitched himself up in his chair, then laughed shortly. “I understand them. Sometimes I play them. Doesn’t mean I care to play them.”

“I see,” Rufus said tonelessly. He did look at Tseng then, who looked back, expecting the order. Then he adjusted his position again, settling in for a discussion.

* * *

It was a good discussion. Tseng had good observations. They were both genuinely terrified of whatever Heidegger had done to the generals.

“They did always say that Sephiroth had honor, cold as he was,” Aeris said. “Even Rhapsodos had a code of conduct. Eccentric, but he had one. This is concerning.”

“So we should go to Midgar,” Cloud said.

Aeris considered her cup of tea. “Eventually. First we pull all of the outer cities into an alliance. And don’t look at me like that, Cloud, I know you’re allergic to strategy but we’re talking about killing the ruler of the most powerful city on the continent. We’d better show up with an army. And a leadership transition plan. All right, that makes two steps before we go there, and speaking of, one’s at the door. Do get that, would you?”

“It’s Rufus,” Cloud said, looking at her.

“Exactly.” She swirled the last of her tea around, then abruptly inverted the cup onto its saucer. After a moment, she lifted it and peered at the pattern of tea leaves stuck to the inside wall. “He’s been mostly talk so far, at least as far as I’ve been involved—” she smiled sweetly at him “—but let’s give him a chance, shall we?”

Tifa, Cloud thought sourly, was laughing merrily down some road somewhere. He rose and opened the door, and found Rufus there as predicted.

Rufus was alone, and had a long thin cardboard box tucked under his arm. He nodded at Aeris as she slipped by him and out of the room, then waited politely for Cloud to tell him to come in.

“That your dress?” Cloud asked.

First Rufus shut the door. Then he took the box out from under his arm and offered it to Cloud. “It is,” he said, voice steady. “I thought you should keep it.”

“Did you even look at it?” Cloud said.

Rufus bit his lip. The box dipped like he was going to take it back, then leveled out. “Did you want to discuss anything tonight?”

Cloud sighed. He looked at the box—white heavy cardboard, black ribbon—and then he took it. He went over to one of the wardrobes, opened up the double doors, and slid the box onto one of the top shelves. 

“I’d like to wear it, some time,” Rufus abruptly said. When Cloud looked back, Rufus had one hand twisted around the other wrist and was staring intently down at his hands. He was twirling his cufflink, upon closer inspection. “I’d like to see how you’re going to put in the adjustments to the wards you mentioned this morning. I’m no more than a sixth-level, but I’ve had the studies to keep up, and I will keep out of the way.”

“Tseng can help with that,” Cloud said. He leaned against the open wardrobe. “Whatever your level, you always have city reserves to draw on.”

Rufus glanced at him but kept twisting the cufflink. “If I hadn’t forfeited that by running,” he said. “I’m sure my father cut me off as his first order.”

“I wasn’t talking about Midgar.” Cloud reached back into the wardrobe and pulled out Rufus’ corset; Aeris had already had it cleaned and…he turned it over in his hands, raising an eyebrow at the light dusting of powder that came off on his fingers. Not vetiver this time. Tuberose. “Did you have a nice dinner with the mayor?”

“Why on earth do you tolerate him?” Rufus asked sharply. Out of turn, judging from the way he grimaced. He was trying not to look at the corset. “He’s a…”

Cloud grinned and flicked the dangling laces at Rufus again. “Let’s talk about it. Strip.”

Rufus breathed in slowly, deeply. His eyes rose to Cloud’s face, then lowered to the corset. They stayed there as he lifted his hands to his collar, tugged out the loops of his new tie and undid the knot. He hadn’t replaced the jacket he’d left in Cloud’s room—here, anyway; when he’d gone out for dinner Cloud had seen one on him.

He held onto the loose ends of his tie for a moment, then let them drop against his chest. Next he unbuttoned his shirt. Top three buttons, pause to pull the wings of his collar open to expose his throat, and then the rest of the front. He lifted his right arm and pulled out the cufflink. His sleeve fell open, showing a web of ribbon disappearing up his arm.

Cloud blinked. “Did you wear those to dinner?” When Rufus nodded, Cloud pressed his lips together. Laughing up a storm, Tifa, Cloud thought, swallowing against the heat rising in him. “Take it off.”

Rufus had already lifted his other arm, but he obligingly left off that and instead untied the ribbon. He held it, looking at Cloud; when Cloud did nothing, Rufus carefully wound it up and slipped it into his trouser pocket with the right cufflink. He repeated the procedure on his left arm, and then lowered his hands. He tugged on his left sleeve till it slid off his shoulder, then put his arms behind him and shrugged off the shirt, letting it drop to the floor.

He took a step forward, glancing at Cloud. Then he drew his feet together and lifted his hands to the front of his trousers. This pair buttoned instead of zipped and he took his time sliding each button through its hole. The trousers whispered down his legs and he bent after them a moment later, pulling his feet free of socks and shoes. The ribbons were there, around his ankles. He untied them.

His cock and balls were bare, but Cloud hadn’t given him those back. As Rufus took the last step up to Cloud, his cock rose a little higher against his belly, pretty and flushed over the white skin. Rufus groaned when Cloud stroked two fingers up it and wiped the precum gathering at the tip.

“Hands on the wardrobe.” Cloud put his fingers against Rufus’ mouth, then pressed them in when Rufus tentatively flicked his tongue at them.

Rufus clenched at the shelves inside the wardrobe, sucking hard on Cloud’s fingers. He grunted when Cloud pulled them away, stepped behind him.

“We’ll get to the mayor in a minute,” Cloud said, pulling the sides of the corset around Rufus’ torso. “You were the Shinra heir. You have the training to manage wards the size of a city, and after about the fourth level or so, that’s not really related to how much power you have personally.”

“I’m aware,” Rufus muttered. He tensed as he felt the corset tighten around him. Cloud touched his back between the shoulderblades and he exhaled sharply, then relaxed in a shudder.

He talked in a slow, low murmur as Cloud laced him in. He had the training but was short on practical experience. His father hadn’t given him many opportunities, was how he put it. Then he leaned his head against the wardrobe and said more bluntly that his father had seen him as a rival since he was twelve.

“Any reason?” Cloud asked. He picked up the ends of the leather strap at the top of the lacing, but just held them.

Rufus flexed his fingers against the shelves. “I objected to the way he killed my mother,” he finally said.

Cloud buckled the straps. After a long silence, Rufus added that he’d begun pushing for an active role in the government following the funeral. His voice grew less brittle as he talked about bribing administrators to let him see the great underground cornerstones that anchored the city wards.

He stopped when Cloud slid the leather cuff onto his left wrist. He didn’t turn and look at it, but his fingers curled sharply.

“Not the gloves,” Cloud said. He buckled the cuff tight, turning it so Rufus wouldn’t be able to reach the straps, and then slid a second one onto Rufus’ right wrist. Then he got down on his knees and wrapped two more around the midpoint of Rufus’ thighs. He bent lower and ran his fingers around Rufus’ ankles. “You didn’t bring the shoes.”

He pulled Rufus away from the wardrobe by the waist; Rufus let his arms drop to his sides and dropped his head back on Cloud’s shoulder. “They’re still making them,” he said, sighing. He shivered when Cloud nipped his ear. “The ones I talked about, and another pair. Riding boots.”

Cloud slid his hands down Rufus’ hips, slow and teasing, till he could grip the silver rings attached to the thigh straps. “Why don’t you have the jewels?” he said, giving the unpierced ear another nip.

“Who’d give them to me?” Rufus breathed. He undulated against the cradle of Cloud’s hips, angling so his buttocks framed Cloud’s erection. “Was I supposed to let my _father_ pierce me? My master?”

“Guess he wouldn’t be,” Cloud acknowledged. He began walking them backwards to the bed. “Probably better nobody knows what level you are. I’d do it where you couldn’t see, when you were dressed.”

Rufus shivered hard. His hands seized Cloud’s wrists, then released them just as suddenly. “I don’t—”

“Your nipples,” Cloud said, running his teeth across Rufus’ neck. “Both of them. Little rings, with drop gems hanging off them. Your rank and nice weights all in one. They’d swing under your clothes, and maybe I’d add a chain or two when I felt like it. Pull on them even more. It’d _hurt_.”

“ _Please_.” Rufus closed his eyes.

The mattress bumped Cloud in the back of the knees. “Up by the top, wrists behind your head, spread your legs,” he said, and twisted to push Rufus onto the bed.

Rufus hissed and writhed, not entirely by design. He glanced once over his shoulder and his eyes were dazed with lust. Then he gave himself a shake. He pulled his legs onto the bed and turned over to face Cloud. Put his back against the headboard, using his hands to push himself over the sheets. His legs dragged limply, the heels leaving deep furrows in the mattress. He seated himself in the middle of the headboard and raised his hands up and over his head, crossing them like Cloud had asked. Last, he pulled his knees up and apart so his hole showed under his balls.

“Healed up from last night,” Cloud said. Not really a question, though Rufus could take it as one if he wanted.

“Cure potions from the lovely Miss Gainsborough.” Rufus arched a little as Cloud ran a chain through the rings on his wrist cuffs, locking them at the back of his neck. “As tight as the first time.”

Cloud smiled at the wall and threaded the chain down behind the headboard. It split into two chains at the other end and he reached under the pillows and pulled them out. He pushed Rufus’ thighs back till the man grunted at the strain, then clipped the end of each chain to the thigh cuffs. Rufus pulled at his limbs, then sprawled back to the extent that he could, which wasn’t much. The pillows under his back cushioned him from the headboard but pushed his spine into a subtle arch, encouraging him to drop his head back. A little sweat already stuck his fair hair to his brow; Cloud pushed it off with his fingers and it fanned against the pillows like gold thread. His throat was a long, pretty invitation to bite and suck, ending in delicate, vulnerable collarbones that heaved as Rufus fought for breath against the corset.

And the corset was lovely on him, clinging white silk that flattened Rufus’ belly, tightened around his waist, framed his hips and the hard flushed cock rising between them. Rufus’ long legs splayed out, the thigh muscles flexing helplessly under their cuffs. Cloud bent and licked along one and Rufus moaned desperately.

“Did I say I wanted a virgin?” Cloud said. He settled himself between Rufus’ legs, took a leisurely tour of Rufus’ bared throat with his mouth while he rolled and pinched the man’s nipples between thumbs and forefingers. “Somebody tie you up before?”

“Bastard.” Rufus shook as Cloud sucked the point of his collarbone. “Yes.”

Cloud gave Rufus’ nipples a hard twist, corset boning creaking as Rufus tried to bend his body into it and relieve the strain. Then he nuzzled down and laved the right nipple with his tongue till Rufus sighed, relaxing. “Mayor’s an asshole and wouldn’t know a systems error if it collapsed the sewers under him, but he’s embezzled exactly the same percentage for ten years now.”

Rufus panted. “What? Oh. And he lets you dictate the wards?”

He shivered at the fingertip Cloud drew around his hole, the rim of it flexing so it lipped at Cloud’s finger like a second, greedy mouth. “Tied you up how?”

“I hate you.” Then Rufus whined, the chains rattling as he tried to close his legs, shake off the hand gently stretching his balls. “Scarves, flimsy things, while they rode me. Never anything—nothing I couldn’t get out of.”

“Actually, Tifa works with him. She’s better at managing his ego. I just step in when we need a lot of raw power.” Cloud let go of Rufus’ balls and straightened up. He put his palms against Rufus’ thighs and smoothed them up and down, from the top of the cuffs into the crease at the groin. “What else have you done?”

Rufus stared up, trapped arms jerking and pulling behind him. He breathed in and there was the edge of a snarl to it, but then he dropped his head. “I don’t hate you,” he said, almost surprised. “But this is confusing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Cloud said, kissing him. 

For a moment Rufus was unresponsive, and then he was…strangely tentative, stroking his tongue against Cloud’s, nudging it to where he wanted but going slack when Cloud increased the pressure of the kiss. His lashes fluttered against Cloud’s forehead, then stilled. When Cloud pulled back, his eyes were shut.

“Whatever I liked on others,” Rufus said meditatively. He didn’t open his eyes as Cloud moved over the bed. “Nothing that’d leave permanent marks, nothing that money couldn’t pay off. Nothing I couldn’t walk away from. I wasn’t stupid, I didn’t need that drain on my resources.”

“Nothing you really wanted.” Cloud knelt back between Rufus’ legs and pressed the first oiled bead to Rufus’ hole. He watched Rufus’ eyes fly open, lose their focus immediately. “Pleasure beads. Used them?”

Rufus shook his head. A drop of sweat slung off his bangs and hit Cloud on the cheek. Down below, the widest part of the bead passed through and Cloud felt Rufus’ flesh clench the rest of it in. “Fuck,” Rufus gasped. He twisted, then gasped again. “Just watched someone else. Oh, fuck. It’s—it keeps moving.”

“You keep moving, it moves.” Cloud pushed in a second bead, then a third. He had to wait for Rufus to finish shuddering before he could get the fourth one in. They weren’t that big, wouldn’t stretch him as much as a plug, but they could rotate on the string and some of them had ridges on them. He licked at Rufus’ shoulder and pushed in the fifth. “Anyway, mayor’s predictable, manageable, but we’re not attached to him. And he’d be terrible in wartime.”

“Please,” Rufus groaned. He shook his head as the sixth bead rode against his hole, teasing the rim. “I can’t.”

“You’re pretty when you can’t,” Cloud said, kissing the side of Rufus’ jaw. He worked in the sixth bead, wiggling it till Rufus abruptly gave and slackened his muscles. “There are two more, but I’ll leave them out. Need a handle.” He demonstrated by tugging the string from side to side, dragging one of those breathless, helpless throaty noises from Rufus. “I’d really like to hear what you think of the mayor.”

Rufus gulped air a few times. He didn’t seem able to speak. Cloud moved back and Rufus moaned, half in protest, half in relief. Hard shivers went through him as he realized Cloud was waiting for him. He tried to pull himself together but every time he lifted his head, the effort rippled down his body to clench his ass around the beads, and then that was it. It took him a few tries before he got it and went limp and stared at the ceiling.

“What I think.” He sounded raspy so Cloud stopped him with a finger on his lips, got up and got him some water. He licked the drops off his mouth with slack, clumsy movements. “Now?”

“Now,” Cloud confirmed. He put the cup aside and sat back down on the bed, facing Rufus. “Yeah, confusing. I could make it worse for you, you know. Call in your dog.”

Rufus jerked. 

“I’m not going to hurt it. You like it a lot, and it seems pretty fond of you.” Cloud leaned forward and ran his finger along Rufus’ trembling calf, over the knee and down. He drew curlicues on Rufus’ thigh. “Really fond. Probably wants to jump and lick you all over when nobody else is around. You’ve got it really well-trained but I can see that. So maybe I’d have to go in the bathroom so it’ll get on the bed. Come up and nose you and lick you.”

“ _Gaia_ ,” Rufus swore. “Strife, damn it—”

“Lick you, ruin your corset, snuffle your cock,” Cloud added. “I could rub its favorite treat around your balls or something, get it to really clean you up. Except it’d probably tear up my sheets too, with those claws, so I called your other dog instead.”

Rufus stiffened, just as Tseng opened the door. Tseng’s eyes widened and his power lashed around him—then he crumpled against the jamb with a pained hiss.

To his credit, he didn’t fight, but just let the temple bindings settle over his magic. He managed to pull himself up after a moment and haul himself around the doorway so he could shut the door behind him. A little blood was dripping from his nose but he didn’t raise his hands.

“You’ve got your people, I’ve got mine,” Cloud said.

“He wasn’t—”

“I wasn’t…” Then Tseng took a step forward, slowly lifting his hands with the palms out. “This morning was my own effort and the error was mine as well.”

“It’s not an error,” Cloud sighed. He twisted around to face Tseng. “I’d rather know where everyone stands. It’s just it’s been a while since I was that far east.”

Rufus shifted in his bonds. He was blinking hard, and Cloud could easily read the frustration on his face. It can’t have been too often that Rufus got strung out like this, and maybe it was cruel, too, what Cloud was using as a distraction, and when Rufus had been honest so far. More so than Cloud had been expecting. He deserved the same—this was the best Cloud could do at the moment.

Tseng was still standing there, clearly uncertain as to how to proceed. He hadn’t been east in a long time either, Cloud suddenly realized. He had the mannerisms but—cursing silently, Cloud began to get up.

“Tseng,” Rufus said quietly. He breathed in as deeply as the corset allowed, then twisted his head towards Cloud. “Please. I want you to touch me.”

He looked pleading, uncertain, determined to try anyway. For a moment Cloud wanted to think about whether he’d looked so young before, and then Cloud shook that way. Tseng was walking over.

Slowly, his composure just as fractured as Rufus’. His hands were trembling as he reached up to pull off his jacket; he shuddered in relief when Cloud took him by the arm and pushed him down, onto his knees. His eyes widened again when Cloud wiped the blood away from beneath his nose.

Cloud stripped him with quick, efficient motions, then twisted one hand in the man’s long tail of hair and used it to pull him up onto the bed and between Rufus’ legs. He followed the slightest tug, avoiding Rufus’ cock and ducking his head, nosing aside Rufus’ scrotum and fastening his mouth to the hole under it.

Rufus jerked roughly, crying out. Cloud just got his hand up and behind the man’s head before it hit the headboard. Then he kept it there, lacing his fingers through the damp locks. Rufus rolled his head, looking up in surprise and pleasure, a naked enjoyment that made Cloud hesitate. Then he closed his eyes and pressed his head back into Cloud’s hand, riding Tseng’s mouth.

The mayor was a pompous idiot, he told Cloud. He was using those embezzled funds for the most tasteless mansion Rufus had ever seen. He hadn’t waited till they’d even gotten through the appetizer courses before asking point-blank whether the mighty Shinra was interested in ridding the town of the terrible demon that’d been feeding on it for years, it and its whore-mistress who’d been kidnapping good men and women to pimp out in its brothel.

“It’s a guild-licensed courtesan house, everyone’s a refugee and anyway, they only spend half their time working here. The rest of the time they’re spying or assassinating or whatever Aeris is meddling in,” Cloud said, amused.

Rufus laughed. Choked on whatever Tseng did with his mouth. Strained his head around, pressed his face through the bars of his bent arm and grazed his mouth against Cloud’s arm. “Gaia, _please_. Cloud…”

Cloud pushed himself up against Rufus’ side. He pulled his fingers off Rufus’ hair and slid his arm behind Rufus’ shoulders, holding up Rufus’ head so he could see Cloud dragging Tseng’s head up to his cock. “So how long before the mayor’s out?”

Two weeks, Rufus said. Two weeks, the Turks needed to be guards and not administrators, he’d find out which of the mayor’s staff he wanted to keep and then he’d take over and that was when he choked off and came, body wrenched around in ecstasy, eyes blindly searching till they found Cloud. He stilled that way, then flopped bonelessly back against the headboard.

Tseng’s head pushed up against Cloud’s hand. He let Tseng pull off Rufus’ cock but then pushed the man back down, sliding along the bed as he did. Tseng turned his head to see Cloud picking up his tie. He turned to face the bed, trembling. His knees spread to let Cloud between them.

Cloud pulled his arms back behind him and knotted the tie around his wrists, careful to wrap it so the thin metal garrote running along its length wouldn’t slice out through the silk. He moved his hands up to grip Tseng’s forearms, and looked up to see Rufus, slowly recovering, watching him with edgy anticipation.

“Suck on the beads, the two not in him,” Cloud said, and Tseng bent his head and Rufus twitched weakly. Cloud let go of one of Tseng’s arms and pressed his fingers between the globes of the man’s ass, rubbing them around Tseng’s hole till he felt moisture seeping out. “I fought a war in the east, about two hundred and thirty years ago. It got—it was complicated, but I sort of founded a temple to get enough mages trained up. I kind of forgot about it, honestly. Surprised it lasted. Pull out a bead.”

Whatever Rufus had been about to say was lost in his thready moan. He hung in his bindings, still quivering from his orgasm. Cloud pushed a finger into Tseng and it was sticky enough in there for him to feel it build up on his fingertip. He added another finger and Tseng bucked back, sinking them in to the knuckle.

“Pull out another one,” Cloud said, scissoring his fingers in Tseng’s ass. “I can shut him down. I can’t make him love me or anything. But I can fuck him in ways you can’t. He’ll get wet like a woman when I want him to. The story behind that one, wasn’t even about sex, I swear. But I think he likes the results.”

“I do,” Tseng said, in a rough, low voice, muffled by Rufus’ thigh. He rolled his hips against Cloud’s hand. “Please.”

Rufus didn’t look surprised. He did stop smirking when Cloud had Tseng pull out the third bead. The fourth one, Tseng leaned back from Rufus and the beads clicked audibly on his teeth as he found himself impaled on Cloud’s cock. He buried his face against Rufus’ groin, Rufus swearing and writhing because his newly-erect cock was crushed between Tseng’s head and his own leg. Cloud slapped Tseng’s hip and Tseng jerked his head up. Rufus’ eyes went wide and hungry; he blushed when he realized Cloud had seen, then deliberately arched his throat.

“Not that one, not yet,” Rufus gasped.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cloud said, and dragged Tseng back against him by the hips. He fucked the man hard and fast, bringing Tseng to the point of climax, and then made them stop moving. Tseng groaned out a prayer Cloud hadn’t heard in two centuries and Cloud swore again.

Then he shoved Tseng’s head down. He reached around and wrapped his hands around Tseng’s cock, and just squeezed when Tseng, over-excited about it, tried to thrust up into the grip.

“Still a bead in him,” Cloud said.

Tseng shivered all over. Then dove at Rufus’ ass like Cloud had held a gun to him. Cloud grabbed his hair and hauled him back and up, making him lean against Cloud just as Cloud pumped his hand over Tseng’s cock. Twice and Tseng was coming, the whole length of his body grinding into it while across the bed Rufus watched, jealousy and yearning and plain lust twisting his face.

Cloud bit at Tseng’s shoulder as the other man went limp, because he needed to bite something and Tseng didn’t resist. He held the flesh in his mouth, then slid out of Tseng and tipped him onto his side. Crawled over the bed and pushed into Rufus’ ass, Rufus moaning under him. “Ever play with your guards before?” he whispered, kissing Rufus’ ear. “Play with him?”

“Not like this,” Rufus said, unexpectedly forceful. He rubbed his cheek hard against Cloud, not a caress. If he’d been a shapeshifter, he’d have been trying to mark his scent. But he was pliant under Cloud’s mouth, sucking gently at Cloud’s lower lip. “Gaia, fuck, Cloud. Your people.”

“Yeah?” Cloud shifted against him, inside him, and licked at Rufus’ moaning mouth. “Your city, right?”

And then he drew back his hips and slammed into Rufus, not letting the man answer. He wanted to do that again, do it over and over till his aching cock spent himself, but he bit down on Rufus’ shoulder and slowed his pace after the first thrust. Rufus whined and twisted but he wasn’t quite there yet, no matter what his overtaxed body was saying. Too close together, his cock needed a little more time. Cloud reached down and urged it along with his hand, stroking in time with the movement of their bodies, waited for it to catch up.

Then he gave over. Shoved Rufus up against the headboard and didn’t let up till he had wrung himself out, Rufus’ come sticky over his stomach. There was a warm mouth pressing at him and he turned his head, and it kissed him slackly.

“If you want,” Rufus said.

* * *

“It’d literally burn you up from inside out. Your magic’s centered just a little below your bellybutton,” Cloud said. He let the washcloth drag over the spot in question, then wiped up the last of the mess from Tseng’s groin. “It’d start there. Quickest way to deliver a cure was a suppository. So it was a side-effect of trying to get that up you before your magic decided your body was the enemy. Battlefield medicine got a little weird.”

Rufus hummed thoughtfully. He was already clean and could have dressed if he’d wanted, but instead he’d stretched out on his belly, the unlaced corset still around him, and rested his chin on his crossed arms to watch Cloud and Tseng. “So any acolyte would do this?”

“Only if you made it past the third circle of training,” Tseng said. He carefully sat up and slipped on the kimono Cloud had given him. “You’re more than halfway to the priesthood at that point, and few would have left the temples, even if they never progressed any farther. I’m certain I’m the only one west of the straits.”

“Well. I suppose you’re forgiven for not mentioning this earlier,” Rufus said, tone indulgent and careless. 

Tseng still relaxed at it, Cloud noted. He tossed the soiled washcloth onto the pile of equally soiled sheets, and then pulled himself fully onto the bed. “Take that off,” he said, tapping the corset. “You can’t sleep in it.”

Rufus looked at him, then sighed and got up. His feet went to the wardrobe, lingered there for a few moments, came back and stopped by the side of the bed. Cloud had already turned on his side and closed his eyes. It was a warm night, and anyway, Cloud was too used to a bedroll to usually feel comfortable with the restriction of a blanket over him. The other two also probably were wondering why he didn’t shove them out of the way and lie lengthwise with his head up on those overstuffed pillows, instead of curling up by the foot. He looked like a dog, he knew, and didn’t give a damn. He was tired.

“The local bank is adequate,” Tseng eventually said. His voice was low but not like he was trying to keep Cloud from hearing him—useless anyway, with his magic still sealed. “Miss Gainsborough’s vault in the basement is much better, but it’s not large enough to hold more than emergency funds.”

The bed dipped. It felt as if Rufus was lying down, head curving towards Cloud’s belly, feet up towards the top of the mattress. There was a puffy sound as Rufus did something with a pillow. “It’ll do for now. Now, I left that disgusting dinner with six invitations from various…local luminaries. We need to vet all of them.”

They kept talking in that vein for long enough that it was clear they weren’t expecting Cloud to join in. He half-listened, then ignored it, and then fell asleep.

* * *

Rufus wasn’t there when Cloud woke up, and Tseng was in the bathroom but he came out at the noise. Cloud didn’t explain it and just laid on his back while the pain slowly ebbed out of his bones; after a moment, Tseng went back into the bathroom. The sink turned on, turned off. Tseng came out and moved around the room, making just enough sound so that Cloud knew it was on purpose.

“We’ll look at the keep after breakfast,” Cloud said, finally sitting up.

Tseng was dressed in a pristine, perfectly-pressed Turk suit. He nodded noncommittally and waited for Cloud to dress and wash up. They parted ways outside the door, but he showed up at the breakfast table shortly afterward, Reno in tow.

Reno was Reno. He flirted with the servants, complimented Aeris effusively on her homemade jams, and bitched about the awesome electrorod he’d had to ditch in their hurry to leave Midgar.

“You don’t get it. Do you know how hard it is to shrink the dampers and still get a charge high enough to lay out a guy?” he complained. “I could take that rod through standard portal spells and it’d still work. It ain’t a piece of cake to find an engineer who can do that.“

“Oh, I think we might be able to find somebody,” Aeris said airily. She set down another tray of pastries. “Tseng, may I borrow you for a moment? There’s a footman at the door with an invitation for Rufus, and he refuses to take a message.”

Tseng sighed and rose—sneaking one of the rose-petal jam buns—and he and Aeris went out. Reno kicked his feet up on Tseng’s vacated chair and waggled his fingers at Cloud. “Nice arrangement you’ve got here, stud. I haven’t been this full since I had to go undercover in the Corel red light district.”

Cloud blinked.

“For fuck’s sake.” The humor drained out of Reno’s face. He sat up and raked his tangle of red hair back from his eyes, and looked straight at Cloud. “You let us in the door. What, we’re _not_ supposed to notice a Curaga’s twice as strong in here? You’re lucky Rufus waited till after dinner last night—I could practically see his skin trying to crawl off. And anyway, incubus, bitch. ‘s kind of my whole reason for being.”

“You’re on the young side,” Cloud said neutrally. He poked at his tea-cup. He’d already had two, but Aeris had made him a whole separate pot, which was a third again as large as the table pot. It’d be a waste, but he was already sick of it.

Reno laughed and slouched again. “Yeah, yeah, and you’re older than you’re saying. Look, I don’t know what the fuck you are, but we knew coming in you weren’t just a really powerful mage. And I don’t think you’re the guardian the lady of the house seems to think, but I’m gonna be a good guest and not poke. It’s really nice here.”

His voice trailed off as he glanced around the room. His right hand absently toyed with a fork; his left curled up into a fist. Pale scars stood out on his knuckles and the underside of his wrist. Sex demons rarely scarred; the ease with which they could obtain the power to heal themselves usually meant there wasn’t enough time.

“Not gonna pretend we’re good little martyrs either,” Reno added. “But worst case, we figured you’d make it quick. And that, I think, we still got the right to.”

“How’d you hear about me?” Cloud asked.

Reno shrugged and flipped the fork into the tray of pastries. He grinned when it hit a soft bun and stood upright like a miniature flag. “Ah, the boss still has his connections. He and your girl Aeris, they know a lot of the same wise men, witchy women.”

“Tseng?” Cloud said.

“The boss,” Reno said. He turned a serious face on Cloud again. “Rufus knows how to make a move. I like him. But he’s not the one who handles the entry oaths. I’m a lot of things, most of them mean, but oathbreaker’s not one of them.”

“Tseng can’t have been your first. You’re older than that,” Cloud observed.

The corner of Reno’s mouth quirked. Then he grinned, wide and faintly wolfish. “Me? I’m a baby. Hey, Tseng. Don’t be like that, I was keeping it warm for you.”

Tseng just stood there and looked at Reno’s feet. Grumbling, Reno swung them off, only to throw up his hands when Cloud stood up and told Tseng now would be a good time to check out the keep.

“Oh, are we out of jam?” Aeris said, poking her head into the room. She swept her eyes over the table, then tutted. “ _Cloud_.”

With a sigh, Cloud turned back and picked up his cup of tea. He made a face when Tseng helpfully grabbed his pot of tea; Tseng stared expressionlessly back. “Whatever,” Cloud muttered. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Cissnei joined them for some of the tour. Cloud didn’t mind much. She’d been before his time, that long-ago first life, and he never really had gotten to know her too well. That didn’t change on this meeting; she was just as stuffed with energy as Reno was, but they both had enough control to keep that from registering as much more than a sort of insinuating warmth. She mostly seemed to be around so Tseng could have someone to bookend his sightlines.

The keep dated back to one of the civil war periods, when the plains cities were as likely to send an army to try and take the mountain passes as a trade caravan. A lot of it had been torn down when things had gotten more peaceful, but there was still the huge round central tower, the tallest building in the town, and one wing shooting off its base. The tower by itself could house twenty or so people comfortably, with enough room for an armory and plentiful supplies; fifty if you wanted to make it uncomfortable. It was split into three floors, each of which they looked at. Tseng seemed impressed at the view from the top, commenting that they could aim artillery right down onto the main road leading up to the town.

They went back down the tower and stopped in the armory at the bottom floor, because Cloud didn’t want to take them into the neighboring wing. “It’s not restored, there’s a lot of loose masonry,” he said. “Pretty dangerous.”

Tseng and Cissnei gave him similar flat, disbelieving looks. “You try that on all your tourists?” Cissnei finally said.

“Sorry, and yeah, I do.” Cloud grimaced and jiggled the teapot in his hand. Maybe half a cup left. He poured it out and downed it, trying not to sigh at the over-familiar taste. “Okay, I don’t want to take you in there because that is actually where I sometimes kill things, and I killed a thing there a month ago and it was messy and I haven’t had time to go over the wards since. I had to leave for a thing right afterward.”

“Lot of things in your life, I see.” Cissnei glanced at Tseng, then held out her hands. “Here, I’ll take those back to the kitchen for you.”

“That’s your idea of a covert signal?” Cloud said. But he handed over the teapot and cup anyway.

As promised, she took them and left. Tseng watched the door swing shut behind her, then turned to Cloud. “There is an absurd amount of shielding on this building, even for that sort of use. Why don’t you live here?”

“Aeris doesn’t like it. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s very good at the housekeeping things, and I’m not really around enough to have feelings on it,” Cloud said. He stepped back and let Tseng walk by him. “It’s a last resort. You shouldn’t come in here otherwise.”

Nodding, Tseng went up to one of the racks of guns on the wall. He lightly touched a rifle barrel, then ran his fingers over the infrared optical sight. Rifles like that hadn’t worked in several hundred years, not since the Ruby series of magestorms. It’d be a surprise just to find one with its electrical components not slagged into a molten mess, and Tseng didn’t look surprised.

He lowered his hand and then clasped his wrists behind his back, still studying the rifles. “Rufus wanted me to tell you he’ll likely be out most of this week on social calls,” he said. “Rude and Elena are taking turns shadowing him. I think they’re least likely to cause a scene.”

“Cissnei seems pretty composed,” Cloud said.

“She’s all right in the house where she can draw on the sexual energy.” Somehow Tseng made that sound as routine as sword-sharpening. “She and Reno were temporarily imprisoned while covering our escape. When they realized they couldn’t break the Turk binding oath, the alchemists tried to make them feed on each other.”

Cloud grimaced. That was a very painful, very prolonged way of killing a sex demon, psychically the same as skinning them alive.

“Since it seems we can afford it, I want them inside till they’ve fully recovered,” Tseng added. “They—”

He cut himself off when Cloud touched his shoulder. Just fingertips. Just as well, since Tseng was so tense that mere fingertips made his magic swirl madly around them. Tseng cursed as the wards on the room fritzed and spat showers of sparks from every metal surface, then jerked in his powers so closely that Cloud could feel the surge through Tseng’s skin and two layers of clothing.

“I can’t seal you here,” Cloud said after a moment. “It’ll conflict with the defense wards. Go change into one of the kimonos and come back.”

Tseng’s shoulders jumped but he kept a tight rein on his magic. He was still standing there when Cloud stepped back from him and went through the door to the wing, deliberately making noise when he shut the door.

Cloud wasn’t lying about not having checked the wards over. Nearly all of them were frayed in places, some so badly he had to stop and fix them. It made him glad he’d gone through the effort of digging up the floor and installing moonstone ore underneath for a powersink.

By the time he made his way to his supply room and back to the armory, it’d been a good twenty minutes. Tseng had been there long enough to calm down, just widening his eyes when he saw the rope hanging from Cloud’s hand. He started to get up from where he was kneeling, apologizing for being ill-prepared. Cloud shushed him with a hand gesture and he hesitated, then slowly sat back. After a moment, he reached up and pulled the kimono off his shoulders.

The gauzy silk fluttered down around his legs, a brilliant splash of red against the grey stones. Cloud pushed at it with his foot till it formed a crude pad, and then nudged Tseng to move onto it. Then he unwound the rope.

It wasn’t quite as soft as they’d use in one of the temples, but it had the right weight and flex, and the hemp’s color picked out the gold tones in Tseng’s skin. For a moment Cloud stood there, holding the first loop up against Tseng’s back, and remembered incense sticks and gilded rafters. He’d stayed a while after that war, one of the few times he’d tried his hand at reconstruction. He wasn’t going to lie and say he hadn’t enjoyed the benefits of leading. But it’d been too—easy, at the time. He hadn’t been ready to keep enjoying it.

Tseng shivered as the rope slid over him. He caught himself, overcompensated and nearly started off one knee when Cloud laid a hand on the back of his neck. His magic reached out convulsively and Cloud grabbed onto the crackling tendrils, holding them still till they’d gotten all the fight out and were limp, nearly insubstantial threads. The tension leached slowly out of Tseng’s body.

Cloud tugged gently at the magic. On the second tug, it stretched instead of resisted, and with a whisper he pulled it into the core of the rope, wrapped it tight, and slung the rope’s ends over Tseng’s shoulders. He kept teasing out magic and tucking it into the rope as he knotted that around Tseng, looping it into a snug corset that traced Tseng’s ribs and abs, circled his cock and balls and slithered back up between his buttocks. Tseng’s breathing slowed.

The second rope, Cloud used to bind Tseng’s upper arms to his sides, wrapping the rope over stiff nipples. He took a third rope and wrapped it around Tseng’s wrists, crossing them just above the man’s groin, and then knotting it up Tseng’s hardening cock. A fourth rope stretched Tseng’s scrotum away from his body and pulled it back towards his ankles, where Cloud knotted off the ends.

Cloud stepped back and Tseng looked at him with half-hazed eyes. A stray coil of magic, tinged red with anger-fear-panic, whipped across Tseng’s left pectoral. Its end caught against a rope, stuck, and then the base was pulled down a framing rope till the whole strand sucked up into the cord, brushing over Tseng’s left nipple as it did. Tseng shivered a little but it relaxed him further into the ropes, the glaze of his eyes deepening.

It’d been a while. Cloud had really forgotten—he dragged a thumbnail over his palm and was distantly surprised at how vivid the hurt was. It’d been a while, and he’d forgotten how it helped him concentrate, too.

He watched Tseng for a few more seconds, then leaned over the man and lightly cradled Tseng’s head in his hands. Tseng sighed and let the weight of his head sink into Cloud’s palms. 

Cloud brushed his thumbs down over Tseng’s eyes, guiding the eyelids shut, and then bent to retrieve the kimono’s belt. He wrapped it a few times around Tseng’s eyes, knotted it, wrapped it over Tseng’s mouth—Tseng parted his lips and the tension sucked the silk over them, so Cloud had to tighten the loops accordingly—knotted it again, and tucked the loose ends into Tseng’s tail of hair. Then he went back into the keep’s wing.

He checked on Tseng every quarter-hour for the next two hours, and even with that, he got more work done on the wards than he usually did in a half-day. The snarls just _made sense_ , for some reason. He could see the way they were tied up on themselves and could figure out how to work them loose, which saved a lot of time on cutting and recreating. Sometimes he even managed to unravel them in such a way that they practically fell back into place.

Of course he didn’t get finished with everything, and Aeris would have his head if he didn’t show up on time for lunch, but he felt quite satisfied as he slipped the ropes off of Tseng. The hands on his thighs actually took him by surprise.

Tseng looked up at him, brows raised, and then shrugged and leaned forward and pressed his open mouth hotly up the length of Cloud’s cock. He did it again, then pulled open the front of Cloud’s pants and swallowed his cock. Cloud damn near fell back into a rack of halberds when he came.

He swung himself forward instead, catching himself on Tseng’s shoulders. The other man held him up till he caught his breath. Cloud straightened up, still breathing hard, and his boot slid on the slippery robe. He paused, then kicked it at Tseng. “Put it on and lick your fingers and bring yourself off.”

Tseng did as he was told. The kimono was a duller red now, smudged and marred by the dirt on the floor. The print of Cloud’s boot rippled over Tseng’s hip as he hiked the hem around his waist with one hand, sucked on the fingers of the other, staring straight into Cloud’s eyes. Then he wrapped his spit-slicked hand around his cock. He worked it up and down his erection. The kimono slipped off one shoulder. Tseng put his other hand up to pull it back on, then dragged his fingers over his chest, following the red marks where the rope had chafed. He came with a groan, his legs shaking, and then he stuck his fingers back in his mouth and licked the come off them.

“I’ve got to come back after lunch,” Cloud said five minutes later. They were going to be late, damn it, and he still sounded like he’d run up and down the whole mountain.

“Good,” Tseng said. He sounded just as bad.

Cloud gave himself a hard shake, then tidied himself up as best he could. He reached down to help Tseng up and the other man closed his fingers around Cloud’s wrist. Pressed his forehead to the back of Cloud’s hand, then his mouth to Cloud’s fingertips. His lips moved, saying something, but he didn’t make any sounds. Then he got up, and they went to lunch.

* * *

They settled into a routine over the next week and a half. Meals were for barbed getting-to-know-you conversation, which Reno and Cissnei and Elena were quite good at. Rude seemed to prefer making his point with how he timed a silently-proffered plate. Rufus was in and out, and when he was in, he usually needed to speak with Aeris about some social thing, but he made a point of showing up every night at Cloud’s door. Usually he was too tired to do more than flop on the bed and order Tseng to blackmail someone, and the one time he wasn’t, it was too late to do more than fuck him hard and fast against the wall, but he showed up. Slept in Cloud’s bed.

He had nightmares. Odd ones, where he was so still he could have been a corpse, but his magic bled out all over the place. Cloud didn’t normally wake up for other people’s dreams, but people moving around in his bed would do it and Rufus always got up and had a shot of brandy once he’d snapped out of it. Tseng got up too, and kept him company, so Cloud didn’t have to do anything, but he ended up having Aeris just leave a stocked teapot in the room and would have a cup till Rufus got offended and crawled back into bed.

He was never around in the morning. Tseng apparently got Cloud during the day—they’d spend an hour or so after breakfast catching up on defensive maneuvers, since Tifa was sending back reports now. Then Cloud would bundle Tseng up in the armory, fix wards, they’d fuck and go to lunch, and then do the same thing till dinner.

“Nice,” Reno said, smirking.

“Never had such an easy time getting the tea down you,” Aeris said. “Next time, I’ll have imported cotton rope for you.”

“I appreciate it very much,” Tseng said. He sprawled out against the wall, a grey and blue kimono draped haphazardly over him, and rubbed his thumb gently over a rope-mark on his ankle. “I hadn’t even wanted to risk a tracking spell lately.”

He’d cleaned up a spilled flask of wormwood cordial in the kitchen earlier with a casual twitch of one finger, the liquid turning to powder and wisping away. A simple spell anyone could do; the skill showed in how the spell hadn’t made a sound and how he’d taken care of the odor of wormwood, too.

He also wasn’t going to say more. “What happened?” Cloud asked.

Tseng looked up at him, blinking. He wasn’t that old himself, Cloud abruptly realized. Maybe thirty. Maybe. Hadn’t he been older the first life?

“I think if I hadn’t had the temple training, I would have died,” Tseng said after a long moment. “I never was satisfied with it before. Too much meditation, not enough implementation. But it helped, when the—they turned the city oath back on me, tried to order me to kill my men. The temple oaths ran deeper.”

“You know, it was a way to train soldiers. I don’t know what they did with it after I left—if it’s some philosophy now,” Cloud said. He shrugged and hung the coil of rope on the wall.

Tseng got up and, after a glance at Cloud, took down the rope. “Rufus will be having dinner here tonight,” he said quietly. Then he frowned. “Are you all right?”

Cloud dragged down the hand he’d pressed to his side. “Hungry,” he said. He wasn’t lying.

* * *

Rufus had a new corset, white with black lace inserts and with a front that scooped past his waist. The front had a double line of tiny silver rings running up it so Cloud could lace Rufus’ cock up against his belly. The corset came with matching shoes, white base and three-inch heels, and black lace ribbons that wound over his feet and up his calves, ending in delicate silver buckles above the knee.

Cloud bound Rufus’ wrists behind him with the black leather cuffs and made him stand at the foot of the bed and watch while Cloud tied up Tseng with the rope, explaining the different knots and the placement of the strands and how they would redirect any push of magic back into Tseng. Then Cloud laid Tseng down on his back, his legs bound so his heels were pushed up to dig into his buttocks, and had Rufus walk around the bed and climb up and straddle Tseng’s face. Rufus swayed alarmingly on the high heels, and once he got on the bed the shoes probably put a few holes through the sheets, but he managed to not need Cloud’s help.

He got through the details of the impeachment and recall he was arranging for the mayor with just the occasional swear, despite Tseng lavishing attention on his hole and perineum. Tseng didn’t go past the back of Rufus’ scrotum, even though Rufus was hitching his hips backward near the end.

The first crack came when Cloud got on the bed and seized a fistful of Rufus’ hair, bending him back and making him moan so long he forgot where he was in the recall laws. He sucked and bit up the side of Rufus’ neck, then pulled Rufus off Tseng to sit against him, careful to swing Rufus’ leg so he wouldn’t stab his heel into Tseng’s belly. Rufus shuddered once, then ground his ass back into Cloud. Suddenly he was begging, twisting in Cloud’s lap, asking for Cloud’s cock in him, fucking him, making his knees go, thick and perfect, filling up his aching hole. He just got dirtier when Cloud bit his ear.

Cloud wrapped his arms over Rufus’ thighs, holding them open, and, with an effort, concentrated enough for a softly glowing white ball to develop on the back of his right hand. He grunted as there was a stab of pain in his abdomen—risky, but it shouldn’t be too late, he’d drunk the damn tea—and then flicked his fingers. The ball detached, arced gently over the intervening space, and sank into the ropes snaking down the center of Tseng’s back. It would’ve instantly dissolved into Tseng’s own magic, racing down the net of ropes. Tseng bowed violently, so far back his shout was half-muffled into the pillows behind his head. Then he crumpled, staring blindly up at them.

The ropes unraveled from around Tseng. He still laid there, shivering a little, till Cloud nudged his head with one foot. Tseng made to lift his arms, couldn’t do it, then tried again and just managed to twist them down to his sides. Cloud waited. He fucked Rufus with his fingers in the meantime; Rufus had oiled himself before he’d shown up for the night and Tseng hadn’t licked all of it out. A lot of it, though, Rufus throwing his head back at the roughness of it, outright mewling. Cloud barely remembered he had more in the drawer by the bed.

He had time to get it and slick Rufus up and get to three fingers before Tseng finally got the strength to lift free of the ropes. Tseng got up on shaky hands and knees and kissed Rufus. Cloud stared, his fingers slowing their push in and out of Rufus, and Rufus was still together enough to notice and put two and two together and make a good show out of the kiss. Then he twisted his head away, protesting, as Cloud pulled his fingers free.

“Start at his heels,” Cloud told Tseng as he seated Rufus on his cock. 

Rufus bucked his hips a little, adjusting, and then went still as Tseng obligingly slid down and licked up one white heel. Tseng left a sheen of spit on the leather and moved on to the ribbon wrapped around Rufus’ ankle. He traced the zigzag of it up Rufus’ calf, then switched to the other leg, biting at the inside of Rufus’ knee. Cloud began to fuck into Rufus, slowly, unraveling the lace around Rufus’ cock with one hand, and Tseng had to grab Rufus’ leg to keep it still.

Tseng sucked a trail of angry red bruises up the inside of Rufus’ thigh. He lifted his head and paused, breathing on the head of Rufus’ cock, and then he shifted back down to start at the base of the other thigh; Rufus’ inhale was so ragged it verged on a sob. Another line of bruises up that thigh, and then Tseng settled his mouth just over the head of Rufus’ cock. He held it there till Cloud had come, muffling his cry in Rufus’ back, and then bobbed once and Rufus was shuddering like they’d touched him with lightning.

While Rufus came down, Tseng gently nuzzled the bruises over his thighs. He dropped back when Rufus had stopped shaking, curling up on his side like Dark Nation before the parlor fireplace. He blinked hard when Cloud sealed his magic, then slinked up the bed and rested his cheek on the hand Cloud had draped over Rufus’ leg.

The pain under Cloud’s ribs subsided to a dull but persistent throb, despite the sealing Cloud had just done. Cloud sighed inwardly, then began to push himself and Rufus apart. He stopped when Rufus murmured a protest. “What?”

“Wait,” Rufus said. He paused, uncertain. That had slipped out, said his face. Then he turned his head and leaned it against Cloud, the same as Tseng. “I…slept better, the night I had the ribbons on.”

Cloud let him lean for a moment. Then he pushed them apart. He unbuckled Rufus’ wrists, then slid out from under him. “Get it off him,” he said to Tseng.

Tseng did as he was told, sitting up, his hands going to the corset laces, but he was looking Cloud over. And Rufus was exhaling in irritation and staring at the ceiling. “What _is_ it with the tea?” he muttered. “Excellent quality, but nothing else.”

“It’s not the tea,” Cloud said, picking up the measuring spoon. He didn’t bother with the pot, just made it straight in the cup. The glowing sigils on his arm dimmed a little, then faded away. A fresh line replaced them a moment later: coordinates. “Tifa just called me. At this hour, usually means I need to kill somebody.”

Rufus straightened up sharply. He wanted to say something else about the tea but refrained, barely. And he wanted to ask about who Cloud was going to kill. They always did.

“Do you have to travel far?” he finally said.

Cloud watched the tea steep. “I’ll be back for lunch tomorrow. It’s somebody from Midgar.”

“Is there any reason I’d be helpful?” Tseng said.

“It’s not one of the generals,” Cloud said after a moment. He poked the side of the cup, even though he knew that wouldn’t make it steep faster. “Just a scout. There any reason why you’d want him to see your face before he dies? Because I can get everything else and tell you about it.”

“Then no,” Rufus answered. He lifted his brows at Cloud. When Cloud didn’t ask, he shrugged and settled back against Tseng with elaborate casualness. A second later, they were discussing crowd control for the recall ceremony.

The tea was finally done. Cloud drank it and made another cup, and let that one steep while he cleaned himself up in the bathroom and dressed. He came back out, downed it, and then stared into the lightly-stained inside. Then he rolled his eyes at himself and went over to the wardrobe where he’d started putting Rufus’ things.

He took out the lace collar, and, after a moment, one of the black silk ribbons. Then he came up to the bed.

“Tseng,” Cloud said.

After a long moment, Tseng put down the unlaced corset. He slid over to kneel at the edge of the bed and Cloud wound the ribbon around his throat, knotting it at the back after each round so it wouldn’t tighten and strangle the man. The ribbon was long enough so that Cloud could cover Tseng’s neck from collarbone to jawline.

When he was done, he pushed at Tseng’s shoulder and the other man backed away. Rufus was shifting impatiently by the headboard, his eyes hot and intent, but he waited for Cloud to call him. He was perfectly still for the collar, and once it was fastened on him he kissed the back of Cloud’s hand.

“The town will be mine before breakfast is over tomorrow,” he said. “Pity you’ll miss it.”

“Well, I never was one for voting,” Cloud said dryly. Funnily enough, it was even true. The times they’d gone with elections afterward, he’d usually been too busy healing.

* * *

It was actually two scouts, by the time Cloud had stepped through the warp gate. He killed them both with a minimum of fuss in the middle of a desolate stretch of sandy patches and grass so dry it rattled in the night breeze. Neither of them had much on their mind; they’d certainly figured out the general direction that Rufus had travelled, but not his destination.

He got rid of the bodies and set about masking their trail for a few miles, on the off-chance they hadn’t reported in recently and Midgar didn’t know exactly where they’d stopped for the night. The pains in his side spread to his belly and he gave in enough to let Tifa know. She wasn’t happy but she agreed that he still had a day, and said she’d make it back in time. Things were going well on her end: she’d gotten in touch with Lazard and nearly completed arrangements for his extraction. It seemed that, at least for now, Rufus’ and Lazard’s father was playing it safe. With the official heir gone, Midgar’s ruler hadn’t moved openly against his only other surviving offspring. He had an iron grip on Midgar but the city had overthrown plenty of rulers in the past, and Lazard was popular.

Hopefully that also meant the immortality treatment wasn’t final and they had time to figure out exactly what that was. Tseng and Rufus hadn’t had more information besides that Heidegger and not Hojo seemed to be running it. Tifa had confirmed that but hadn’t managed to pry out anything more.

Much as Cloud hated to do it, they should probably ask Vincent for advice. If Tseng didn’t know more, it was probably a connection far before his time.

Cloud was mulling over whether to have Aeris or Tifa contact the man when he stepped out into Aeris’ front courtyard. It was broad daylight and there was a woman in red and they were spinning away from their first passes at each other when it caught up to him. He—

Shouting. The whole city in his head, then not, her blade whipping past his belly. She was already wounded— _the whole planet crying out in him_ —and he knew her, knew how she moved and he cut her down and then pain exploded through his body.

He stumbled and he could see the leather of his boot tearing open, the hard gleaming shell underneath. Blood splattered over it, dripping from his mouth. He spun crazily, saw/felt his own magic _pulsing_ at him, calling him, promising safety-strength-sealing, and he ran for it. He barely made it into the keep before his bones melted.

* * *

His body shaped and reshaped itself. Scales as hard as diamond grew over him and fell off, slashing the tender flesh that roiled beneath. His limbs grew till they stretched from end to end of the great hall, then contorted. He tied himself in grotesque knots and broke bones freeing himself. The earth beneath spoke to him, and the heavens above filled his eyes.

It all hurt.

* * *

As usual, Cloud woke up in the middle of the great hall of the keep’s one remaining wing, sprawled painfully over a bed of materia. A particularly large, sea-green one was right in his line of sight, probably a Bahamut-related summons. He grimaced and gingerly turned his head. The ceiling looked okay.

He heard footsteps pick their way over. Then Tifa looked down at him. “You _idiot_ ,” she said. “I already had her. I was one punch away from breaking her spine and then you got in the way.”

“Tifa, why the hell was Rosso here?” Cloud said.

She stared at him, fists on hips, her nostrils flaring in and out. In and out. Then she turned away, and he heard her kicking at the materia. She muttered under her breath about his damn stupid habit of not checking his back-up. Then she sighed heavily. Someone else came over and they had a broom. Elena? They were carefully sweeping the materia away from him.

“Okay, it’s clear enough,” Tifa told someone. “Come on over and let me explain all the ways he’s an idiot.”

Cloud lifted his head, then put it back down. It felt like his muscles were still reassembling. He never really got used to it, that weird liquid slosh of hurt, like his arms and legs were filled with acid. “I should’ve had another day. Even with a fight—I didn’t even spell her, I just called out my sword. Shouldn’t have done that.”

“Should’ve let me take her,” Tifa said, back in his line of sight. Then she looked across him.

A grim Rufus and Tseng looked down at him. They didn’t have the collars on, and were dressed impeccably in white and blue suits, respectively.

“This is an example of what I was talking about,” Tifa said. She bent down and pulled a materia out from under Cloud, and held it so they could watch it melt into her fingers. “See, back in my _first_ life, they didn’t do that. They stayed a separate object, and you had to really work to make them do anything. Now there’s so much magic around, there’s enough magic in every person to call it into you.”

“We used to call it mako,” Cloud muttered. “Lifestream.”

Tifa glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at him. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Gaia, Cloud. You made enough of them to keep Aeris going for a whole year, this time.”

Rufus’ mask slipped a little. “He _made_ them?”

“He’s got so much in him at this point, he can’t even hold it all,” Tifa said. “He’s not just flesh and blood. He’s—we called it a WEAPON. All caps. Not a guardian. Sometimes I wonder who changed up that story…anyway, they’re made of magic. It builds up and when it gets too much, he changes into WEAPON form and—sheds. It’s like he pumps the magic into a shell around him and then it breaks off and then the whole thing repeats. And the shell breaks up into materia.”

“Wasn’t always like that,” Cloud said. He pulled at his legs and managed to bend his knees. “I was just a really strong…I was human, all right? I just lived forever and had some neat tricks. Fuck. This really isn’t what I thought would happen when we got rid of Jenova.”

“She’s not whatever the hell you heard about before. That one, we changed the story on purpose, just in case someone figured out how to bring her back.” Tifa smiled sourly. “It’s way past that being possible now, and of course I’m actually wishing we had her. The balance has swung so far the other way, it’s almost as bad. Every time a magestorm kills me…look, I’ve got to get all this materia stored before it ruins what’s left of technology around here. He’ll be up in another couple minutes, and then bring him inside, all right?”

Tseng nodded. Rufus just kept staring at Cloud. He’d closed up that crack before Cloud could get more than wary awe, and now he was unreadable. Cloud grimaced and rotated his wrists, testing how much fine motor control he had. He needed to get up. He needed clothes. Not for the first time, he wished that some of the WEAPON armor would stay intact enough to cover him when he came to.

“Tifa’s the only one who consistently remembers her past lives,” he said, just to fill in the quiet. He didn’t even hear Elena; Tifa must have taken her. “Aeris doesn’t remember a thing. Don’t tell her. Sometimes that triggers her memory and sometimes that doesn’t go well and she goes a little crazy.”

Rufus finally moved. He pursed his lips, then lowered himself to kneel beside Cloud. “You’re the savior who stopped the calamity from the sky, centuries ago, the one we all learn about as children,” he said. His voice was flat. “You just kept living, and the rest of us reincarnate.”

Nanaki had never died either, but that was his secret to tell. “Not everybody, not every single time.” Cloud moved and the materia slid around under him and suddenly his ass dropped onto the floor. Wasn’t more than an inch but he ached so much it made him close his eyes for a moment. Then the rest of the materia squeezed out and his shoulders, hips, head hit. He bit back a hiss. “You’re probably not going to remember. I don’t think you ever did. It’s always Tifa, sometimes Aeris and Zack and Vincent. Sephiroth gets—fragments. Kadaj usually does, for some reason. Not like he had much to remember.”

“You’re trying to distract me,” Rufus said, still flat. “It doesn’t work right now.”

“I’m trying to explain,” Cloud said. “It’s usually just a—a core group, too. But nearly everyone’s shown up this time. Even Rosso and she’s never—and—”

“ _Explain_?” Rufus said, his voice suddenly shaking. He inhaled sharply and pressed his hands to his hips. Then he settled back. His shoulders jumped as Tseng eased down next to him, but he didn’t look over. “Explain. Yes. Rufus, I think you should know that I occasionally lock myself up and turn into a thing capable of leveling a city, which is clearly extremely painful because I need sound-canceling spells as thick as my concrete head to get my screams down to audible _just_ in the building, because I’d rather do that than fuck enough people to burn off the energy.”

Cloud blinked hard. “Fucking by itself doesn’t work anymore,” he finally said. “It just lets me go longer in between.”

Rufus tilted his head. “And this is not useful information anyway because…ah. See. The same point.”

“The point is, I can do this or I can burn through people, and killing works as well as fucking,” Cloud snapped. “I guess if I wiped out an army, that’d do it, but I don’t like starting wars, and I’m not really fond of fucking people to death.”

Rufus’ mouth went thin and tight. Then he jerked his head around. He exhaled slowly, staring across the room. His hand came up and rubbed along the side of his face, as if his head hurt. 

“I never have,” Cloud belatedly added. “Not even close. It’s—they passed out a few times, but I can pull it back long enough to get out of the room. I’m still sort of aware when it’s happening, and I can keep from exploding all over people. Can’t always keep them from seeing it, but…”

“You have a horrifying way of reassuring people,” Rufus said, looking back at him. He sighed, and then leaned back as Cloud finally managed to sit up. “How many people have you tried fucking at once?”

Cloud looked at him. He stared back. Tseng sighed and pulled off his jacket, and handed it to Cloud, who put it on without breaking eye contact.

“Two.” After a moment, Cloud laughed. “It’s only really helped a couple times. Most of the time the arguing makes it not worth it.”

“Clearly, you don’t know how to manage people,” Rufus muttered. He ran his hand back through his hair, then pulled it down. It was shaking and he couldn’t seem to not look at it.

He started when Cloud wrapped one hand around his wrist, then looked up. He was biting his lip again. Cloud tugged on his arm and his eyes narrowed, then widened. He shivered once, and then again when Cloud pulled him up to one side. Cloud ran his hand up Rufus’ arm and then down the man’s side, slipping into the pocket of Rufus’ jacket. He pulled out something lacy—the collar.

“I killed three people for you in one day,” Cloud said thoughtfully.

Rufus put his head on Cloud’s shoulder. “Damn it,” he said. Then he sighed and turned his head and pressed his mouth to Cloud’s throat. “Two. Ridiculous. We can certainly do better. And if you had more than a courtesan’s salon and this old keep to absorb the excess…”

“I really want to know why everyone’s back this time,” Cloud said.

“That too.” Rufus cozied up to Cloud even as he and Tseng got Cloud to his feet. “Oh, by the way, I’m the mayor now.”

“Congratulations.” Cloud twined his fingers in Tseng’s hair. He touched something silky, ran his fingers along it and found out Tseng had used the ribbon to tie back his hair. He tugged it and Tseng hummed low in his throat, and pushed some materia out of their way with one foot. “When’s the party?”


	2. Chapter 2

Cloud had been kidding. Unless he absolutely had to, he always spent the two or three days afterward hibernating in his room, only eating when Tifa or Aeris made him. This time wasn’t any different, once he’d checked in with Tifa and made sure she wasn’t up against anyone she couldn’t take. Which wasn’t too many, these days; an endless supply of materia to absorb combined with so many lives’ worth of experience made her a terror in her own right. Plus she was still angry.

“Only a little at you now,” she admitted, sitting on his bed. She swept the bangs out of her face and leaned back on her hands. “I thought you still had a day, too. Which really worries me, by the way.”

“Anything else?” After so long in bed, Cloud’s joints felt rusty. He left his shirt pulled halfway down his chest, swung his arms a few times to try and loosen them, and then pulled his shirt the rest of the way.

Tifa drummed her fingers against the bed. “Got hold of Vincent. Killed Weiss and Nero, worked Vincent’s connections, learned that Hojo’s under house arrest and we think it’s really real. If everything else is fucked up this time, you think we’ll have to save him?”

Cloud made a face at her. She snorted and flopped back on the bed. Her sleeves rode up to show a distinctly mouth-shaped bruise on one arm. She pulled it down when she saw him looking at it, then shrugged and fanned her hair out behind her, showing off another hickey on her throat.

“I may have talked to Lucrecia, too, to see if any of this fit her old research,” Tifa said. She directed a bemused smile at the ceiling. “She’s a lot better.”

“I don’t know, if she’s still going after dark and dangerous,” Cloud said.

They shared a smile. To be honest, Cloud didn’t have nearly the sympathy for Lucrecia that Tifa did, but he trusted Tifa’s taste in bedfellows a hell of a lot more than his own. If she made Tifa a little happier, Tifa deserved it.

“Sadly, she’s got no clue. She did offer to head east and see if she can rustle up anything in Wutai—she’s got some fellowship offer out there anyway—so I said sure, and call me the moment you think somebody’s after you.” Tifa paused. “Vincent really wants to come over. Since Lazard’s actually lying low, he’s bored.”

“You have Vincent watching him?” Cloud said, frowning.

Her mouth twisted. “Well, he remembered. Just recently. I didn’t have time to mention it because you were WEAPON and then you were passed out. Don’t worry, it didn’t hit like me, it’s one of those, he’s got the memories but it’s all dreamlike and his identities are having no problem staying separate. He does remember you helping him die, though.”

That had taken a while. Vincent had been fine—as much as he could be fine—living through the first few rounds of reincarnations. Then he’d gradually deteriorated, to the point that he’d crawled back into a box. Cloud and Nanaki had pulled him out and talked it over and convinced him that if he didn’t want to live, he’d try dying and stop the endless wallowing in guilt-stained dreamland. And then he hadn’t shown up for a couple reincarnations, and Cloud had wondered if they’d really, _really_ killed him, and that round he’d come up.

Cloud still didn’t know how he felt about that, but it hadn’t been straightforward welcome.

Tifa knew that. She gave him a few minutes before going on. “Look, we’re going to have to head for Midgar at some point. And Rufus seems really serious about getting you some more options. He was quizzing me the other day.”

“My type?”

“No, common reasons why it didn’t work out and how much of it was due to your terrible communication skills.” She gave him a cat’s smile. “I think I like this one. He didn’t even bat an eye when I talked about the times he messed up.”

“That was only twice,” Cloud said. He looked hard at her. “And Vincent was a complete disaster. You said never again.”

Tifa rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the bed. “I said never again would I go on vacation and trust you two to be happy when I came back. Give me a good tactical reason why we shouldn’t call him up.” She waited. “No? The relationship part, that’s optional and you control the option, you know that. Now get down to the front parlor already. Rufus wants to show you something.”

* * *

Rufus wanted to show Cloud the white dress. It was a throwback to an earlier time, a slim thing of lace and crisp linen, with a high neck and long sleeves and a skirt with hobbling ribbons worked into the lace panels, its hem just brushing the tops of fragile white boots. A wide white ribbon blindfolded him. When Cloud bent him over, he found white leather cuffs holding Rufus’ wrists to the small of his back, and a long line of small mother-of-pearl buttons running from Rufus’ hairline down to his waist.

Cloud pushed him back up and Rufus twisted slightly, dangerously close to falling off. He was perched precariously on the edge of one of the sofas. The plush red velvet and gold trim should have made him look ridiculous, the virginal play too obvious, but instead he looked delicious.

“Tea?” Aeris said. She came into the room, a lazy, triumphant smile on her face, followed by Tseng with the tea tray.

Tseng wasn’t wearing his blue suit. He had on fawn trousers that clung to his legs like a second skin, their smooth matte finish so subtle that it wasn’t till he was standing right in front of Cloud that Cloud realized they were made of leather. Kidskin. Tight black boots came up to his knees. His shirt was white linen and a fawn waistcoat closed over it so snugly it only needed boning to be a corset. A frothy white cravat finished it.

Aeris and Cloud sat down on opposing couches. After a moment, Cloud slung his arm gently around Rufus’ waist, letting his hand rest on the man’s thigh. Rufus had a corset on under the dress.

“I realize you don’t need it now, but it’s a nice prop, isn’t it?” Aeris said cheerfully as Tseng set the tray down on the table between them. “Oh, yes, it was never the tea. Tea just tastes the best with the painkillers painted inside the cups.”

Tseng paused, then nodded and proceeded to make them tea. He worked with slow, precise movements, measuring the leaves, testing the temperature of the water with a drop on the back of his hand, lifting out sugar cubes with a pair of small gold tongs, and it was so languidly sensual that Cloud expected the air to ripple with heat around him.

“Also, I know about the reincarnations.” Aeris giggled at Cloud’s expression, but there was more than a little steel in her eyes. “Tifa, thankfully, thinks it’s better I’m warned than if I don’t have any idea at all and something accidentally makes me remember. And also, she thought it would be a great idea to look for a pattern for why the times I did remember made me a little crazy but she’s always managed it, and she _is_ incredibly strong but also I remembered those times because I was trying to talk to the planet. So I’ll skip that this time.”

“I’m really terrible at this,” Cloud finally said. “I’m sorry.”

Aeris rolled her eyes. Rufus snorted, and then shivered as Cloud rubbed his hand over Rufus’ hip. He pressed closer to Cloud, the soft linen of his dress rustling against Cloud’s arm, and Aeris looked on in appreciation before giving herself a mournful shake.

“Anyway, clearly I can’t do what I used to do. I’m no help if I overdose on magic, so I’ll have to find another way to help,” Aeris said. She took her cup and saucer from Tseng and then rose to her feet. “But I just wanted you to know, so you wouldn’t worry. Because you worry a lot, Cloud, and when we all make our own choices. Should I lock the door?”

Cloud pulled Rufus onto his lap. He pushed his face into Rufus’ hair, then into the lacy collar. Wisteria. “Hmm, no, just pull it shut.”

Giggling, Aeris did just that. They could still hear people moving around in the hall; Rufus started every time a muffled voice came through the door, until Cloud stopped fondling him through the dress and started in on the buttons.

Cloud unwrapped him slowly, mouthing at every bit of revealed flesh, while Tseng knelt between their legs. The corset underneath was the white one with black lace, and over it was fastened a black garter belt with straps that ran over white silk underwear, framing the bulge of Rufus’ cock in the panties. Cloud had Tseng mouth Rufus through the panties, holding him in place by the hair, till Rufus was writhing in his lap. He rubbed his free hand over the hose encasing Rufus’ legs, silk so thin it seemed to be little more than a translucent sheen on Rufus’ legs. He touched them partly because he needed to see it push up against his fingertips to believe it wasn’t just glittering powder, partly because it made Rufus try to spread his legs wider, knocking them repeatedly against the sofa.

The panties were sopping by the time Cloud nudged Tseng’s head away. Not that far, just up enough to catch the top hem between his teeth, and then Tseng was tugging them over Rufus’ cock and down Rufus’ legs. Very slowly, with Cloud pushing Rufus’ thighs together, because they didn’t want to rip the flimsy fabric.

Under the panties Rufus had white ribbons tied around his balls, pulling them tightly back against his perineum. He moaned as Cloud ran a fingertip over the reddened flesh on either side of the ribbons, following them back, over the head of the plug stretching Rufus’ ass, up to the rings at the bottom of the corset where they were tied off. His cock wasn’t neglected either, bound in rings of white leather running out from a central lengthwise strap, and tightly enough so that it couldn’t rise erect. “Please let me come,” he groaned, Tseng’s tongue, Cloud’s thumb running over the flesh in between the leather rings. “Please stop, let me come, it hurts.”

Cloud kissed him instead, shutting him up. He slumped into it, mouth slackly quivering, and then his open mouth was dragging over Cloud’s neck as Cloud turned him around, had him straddling Cloud’s lap with his knees up on the sofa, his face pressed to Cloud’s shoulder.

Tseng licked at the plug in his ass, nudging it with his tongue, pushing it sideways and in and then tugging on it with his teeth. Cloud cupped Rufus’ buttocks with his hands and spread them to give Tseng more access, and Tseng used it to catch the laces running down the cleft of Rufus’ ass with teeth and tongue. They played like that for a while, Rufus reduced to desperate mewls, before Cloud finally untied the ribbons from the corset. Tseng pulled the plug out and fucked Rufus with his tongue while Cloud teased the ribbons away from Rufus’ balls, rolling the soft sac against his palm. Then he sat back and Cloud turned and set Rufus to lie on his back on the couch.

He slid two fingers into Rufus’ ass, a thumb against Rufus’ perineum. “I could milk you like this,” Cloud said, though he was already unbuckling the straps from around Rufus’ cock. “Rub till your balls emptied of come. Wouldn’t be an orgasm, you’d feel wrung out but unsatisfied, just unfilled. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you. Fuck, you like all the things I do to you, even when I do them for fucked-up reasons.”

Cloud bent his head. The last strap fell away and his mouth barely touched Rufus’ cock when Rufus was coming, his knees jerking against Cloud’s shoulders.

Tseng licked the come off Cloud’s lips, sitting on Cloud’s lap while Cloud undressed him. He had a collar on under the cravat, black silk cord braided and knotted so prettily it could’ve passed as a woman’s necklace. Silver pressure rings on his nipples, making him gasp when Cloud thumbed open the latches and the blood rushed back in. More black silk cord wound around his cock and balls, tucking them painfully back between his legs. Nothing in his ass but his hole was wet, drops of it squeezing past the fingers Cloud pushed in.

Cloud untied the cord from around Tseng’s cock and fucked Tseng with his fingers till the man was on the edge of climax. He stopped moving his hand and pulled on the cord still around Tseng’s balls till he was sure Tseng would hold it. By then Rufus had recovered enough to push up on his arms.

Rufus dropped back when Cloud slid Tseng’s cock into his still-stretched hole. Cloud’s fingertip went in, too, and Cloud wiggled it a little, making both of the men under him cry out. Then he pushed back. Licked at Tseng’s hole, felt it get even wetter. He pulled the knots out from the cord on Tseng’s balls but left the cord itself on, and then got on his knees and fucked the one man into the other.

Tseng came almost immediately, clawing at the upholstery on either side of Rufus’ head. Rufus was only a minute or so behind, and then Cloud was slumping on top of them, feeling probably the best he had ever felt, this soon after being a WEAPON. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea.

“Since you didn’t make it to my swearing-in,” Rufus said a while later. He stretched against Cloud, purring, while Cloud and Tseng worked at the corset laces. “Mmm. We should celebrate every city like this.”

“Every what?”

“Cloud, I do like everything you do to me. And you like it when other people handle the strategy.” Rufus kissed the side of his jaw. “You kill things, I’ll negotiate, and Tseng will help Miss Lockheart and Miss Gainsborough coordinate the clean-up. I think that sounds eminently reasonable, don’t you?”

* * *

“Did you think we weren’t talking to each other?” Tifa asked, spreading out the map. She lifted her hand and frowned when the right two corners immediately began curling up. Before she could stick them down, Cissnei reached out and patted the corners down, a soft reddish glow momentarily surrounding her fingers. Tifa smiled and rubbed her hand over Cissnei’s shoulder, then raised her arm so Cissnei could curl under it, her head resting on Tifa’s thigh. “Speaking of, Rufus should be here in a second. He just had to drop off some mail first, something about arranging a pact of mutual defense with the other mountain cities.”

Cloud sat down on the sofa opposite them. “Did no one tell him what I do for a living?”

“You _literally_ create wealth, Cloud.” Rufus came in, Aeris right on his heels, and promptly claimed the remaining three-fourths of Cloud’s sofa. “Why are you a courier?”

“Good cover for the times we’ve got to kill evil things without telling anybody. Sometimes we just can’t swing the PR,” Tifa said. She looked up, then glanced at the door. “Tseng coming?”

“He’s still looking over the latest from Midgar, so don’t wait on his account,” Rufus said. He had brought Dark Nation with him; after a wary look at them all, Dark Nation opted to curl up by Aeris’ feet. Rufus snorted and tossed his arms over the back of the sofa, his fingertips just brushing the back of Cloud’s neck. “Traitor.”

Aeris smiled sweetly at him and slipped something small and brown into Dark Nation’s mouth. “Oh, I think it’s just a better offer,” she said. “All right, then. Business or family first?”

“I don’t necessarily see the difference, but I acknowledge your effort at diplomacy, and note that it’s unwarranted,” Rufus said, dry as bone. Hidden by Cloud’s head, his fingers curled into a fist. “How is Lazard?”

“Sick, actually.” Tifa looked up from where she’d been marking the latest movements of Midgar’s forces. “Hate to say this, considering we really aren’t making any headway in Midgar, but I think we’ve got to actually make him disappear. He needs better treatment than we can do when he’s still making public appearances.”

“What kind of sick?” Cloud said, over Rufus’ reply. He felt more than saw the other man turn towards him and put his hand on Rufus’ thigh. It wasn’t a sign of affection so much as a preemptive hold and Rufus inhaled sharply. “Related sick, or—”

Cissnei coughed. “Say it without the inside slang.”

“It’s not a reincarnation problem coming through. Well, maybe not,” Tifa said. She glanced at Cissnei, then at Rufus. When they didn’t press for more, she sighed and leaned back, running one hand through her bangs. “Mage fever, tertiary type, is what I’ve been told. But look, I was thinking about the Deepground people and…I mean, I’ve gotten a lot better over all my lives, but they went down too easy. And if it’s tertiary, ninety percent of the time it means Lazard _did_ get the vaccine as a kid and this is popping up anyway.”

“Do you want his medical records?” Rufus sounded bored. His leg felt like a tensioned wire under Cloud’s hand. “Any information you need on my dear brother, I’ll be more than happy to provide.”

Tifa studied him for a moment. “It’d do a lot more for my peace of mind if you could get records on the generals. They’re the only other Jenova test subjects running around right now.”

“Test subjects?” Rufus said, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah, that’s why Lazard’s so special over you this time,” Tifa said, amused. “He got Jenova cells the first life. Not that that’s much of a bonus, you know. We might’ve wiped out Jenova ages ago, but she scarred everybody she touched. I’m just thinking that maybe this time, it’s showing up as…I don’t know, some kind of magical weakness. You probably don’t remember but Rosso’s spellwork was _sloppy_. Much too sloppy for someone with her training and power.”

That last part was to Cloud. He tilted his head back against the sofa, trying to remember, and then shook his head. “Would that explain the generals?” he said.

Rufus abruptly pulled his arms down and folded his hands in his lap. On the other side of the table, Cissnei’s hands jerked convulsively. Tifa glanced down, then put her hand on Cissnei’s side. Then she looked pointedly at Cloud.

“You’d have to see for yourself,” Rufus finally said. “I can’t say for certain.”

“Well, I’ve been saying that whatever they’ve been like, the right thing to do is still to get rid of the control implants.” Aeris bent down and scruffed her hand over Dark Nation’s head, waking up the dozing hound. She gave the dog a push towards Rufus and after a sleepy blink, Dark Nation padded over and put its head on Rufus’ knee.

Rufus’ head twitched a little, but he didn’t look down. He did begin to run his hand slowly over the fur of Dark Nation’s neck. “At least one of them should be coming to investigate soon, anyway,” he said. He offered them a sharp, thin smile. “Most of the northern cities have agreed to explore the idea of a pact of mutual defense. It’s unlikely Midgar hasn’t noticed.”

“Oh, they’ve noticed,” Tifa said. She waved her hand at the map, causing parts of it to light up. “See this shift? They’re setting up supply lines.”

“And here, see, they’re ramping up weapons productions.” Aeris pulled her billowy skirt out of the way, then scooted up to the edge of the table and began poking purposefully at the map. Red and yellow dots lit up under her fingertip. “But here’s where it’s really interesting. It’s nowhere near anything useful for a campaign against us. In fact, it’s almost like they’re trying to build up a siege around here and here, isn’t it?”

“Huh.” Tifa tilted her head. “Or guarding something. That your Kalm contact?” 

“Yes. So, two fortresses. Three generals.”

“If we go with your theory that it’s related to encounters with this Jenova in prior lives, then the weakest ones should be those who dealt the most with her,” Cissnei added. 

“Then we’re going to get Rhapsodos first, right?” Tifa said, looking up at Cloud. “Lazard scaled to a fever, but he didn’t have all those other enhancements. And Rosso and Weiss and the rest, they didn’t look _sick_ , they looked…disoriented. Remember, I told you, it was like they were as surprised to see me as I was to see them. I’m pretty sure they were trailing something, but it wasn’t me.”

Aeris hummed thoughtfully. “But you _do_ feel a lot like Cloud, with all of the materia he makes that you use. Remember I thought you two were siblings at first?”

Cissnei looked doubtfully at her. “Really?”

“Well, Cloud had a dark wig and a dress on at the time,” Aeris said, blushing. She fluttered her hands just over her skirt. “And Tifa was wearing this utterly ravishing leather—at any rate, I admit I wasn’t paying much attention to their faces. Anyway, so will Rhapsodos come with an army or alone? Could we throw him a party?”

“Could _Cloud_ throw him a party,” Tifa muttered. She looked at Cloud again. “I’m assuming we’re going to try to not kill him right away?”

After a moment, Cloud nudged Rufus with his elbow. Rufus flinched violently, then turned a questioning look on Cloud.

“Damn it.” Tifa pushed her sleeve up, made a face at the glowing letters rapidly scrolling over her forearm, and then got up. “Look, don’t go anywhere, we still need to talk about where to move Lazard. And I wanted to talk to Tseng about the…”

“He’s been a while,” Cissnei said, also rising. “I can go remind him.”

“Oh, don’t even bother,” Rufus muttered as Aeris opened her mouth.

Aeris shrugged and turned in a swirl of pink, sweeping Dark Nation along with her. 

“That’s why I just try to stay out of their way,” Cloud said. He rubbed his hands over his knees, then pushed down and got halfway up. Then he made himself sit down. He stared at his hands. “So.”

“It’s not their fault.” Rufus stared at the far wall. His eyes were cool and placid; when he blinked it seemed unreal, out of place with the stillness. Then, very slowly, he inclined his head so he was looking at the table. “I think it was Sephiroth’s face that convinced me. He couldn’t fake a lack of control like that, it goes against everything he’s made himself to be. Why are you asking me whether they should live?”

“I’m not asking you whether they should live,” Cloud said slowly. He let that flat gaze turn onto him and at least met it. “Tifa and I will…they’re always in the middle of whatever it is. I need them to know what’s going on. Anyway, you’re already upset. No point in hiding it.”

Rufus looked at him, then away. Then he lifted one hand and touched his temple, his eyes falling tightly shut. He turned his head a little, then back, and pressed harder at his temple. 

Cloud reached up without thinking, then stopped as Rufus turned his head. Rufus looked at him, looked at his hand, and then abruptly shoved his face into Cloud’s shoulder. Startled, Cloud let his arm go limp and it awkwardly fell over Rufus’ back. “Pull it up,” Rufus muttered. Once Cloud had, Rufus moved stiff shoulders under Cloud’s arm, then took a long, deep breath. “Gaia, you’re a mess.”

“Yeah.” Cloud experimentally settled his arm more firmly on Rufus. “Kind of always was.”

“There’s this…” Rufus breathed in deeply again “…vacuum in them now. This endless black pit, trying to—it wants power, just raw power, and anything you have, it’ll twist up and shake loose and try to pull out. It’s like it has to destroy you inside before it can eat you.”

“Sounds familiar,” Cloud said after a long moment. Even now, sometimes, he felt a touch of fear that they hadn’t gotten rid of her, that she’d managed to come back after all and all that pain and suffering and loss had been for nothing. He held his breath, feeling the edge of that terror, and then reminded himself that if it was _Jenova_ , they wouldn’t be having this discussion. He’d know best, and know before anyone.

Rufus moved his head on Cloud’s shoulder. “Sounds like something you and Tifa handled many lives ago?”

Cloud snorted. His hand slipped down onto Rufus’ arm. He moved it back up, then shrugged and pushed it down, cupping it under Rufus’ elbow so he could pull up Rufus’ head. At the same time Rufus looked up. Their mouths missed each other by a hair, just their warm breath mingling. Rolling his eyes, Rufus moved his head back.

It was slow and strangely sweet. And then Rufus made a rough, aggressive noise in his throat and pulled himself over Cloud’s lap, pushing back Cloud’s shoulders, straddling Cloud. His arms went past either side of Cloud’s neck to lock Cloud’s head in place against the sofa. “What does _not_ make me feel better is you preemptively forcing me to drop you,” Rufus said. “Just tell me when and where you’ll be handling Rhapsodos, and I’ll schedule a treaty meeting away from it.”

“I promise not to sleep with your brother, either,” Cloud said.

Rufus arched a brow. “Not if I’m not there, obviously.” He regarded Cloud with more than a touch of smugness to his amusement. “And that’s where you draw the line?”

“You’re all kinds of fucked-up, too, good as you make it look,” Cloud muttered. He lifted his hands and put them on Rufus’ sides. Then he dragged them slowly down to Rufus’ hips. “Okay, fine, but that did upset you too. So what the hell was I supposed to do just now?”

“Mmm.” Rufus pretended to think. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing across Cloud’s cheek before coming to a stop just by Cloud’s ear. “I’m not averse to you sleeping with him. After you fucked me, maybe even on top of me. I’d still be tied to the bed and you’d rub his face in every single inch, every inch you’d licked and bit and marked and he’d like that, he’d _want_ that, seeing what it looks like on me—”

“No, no, _no_.” Tifa banged open the door. “Evacuation plans _first_.”

* * *

Evacuation and trapping Rhapsodos plans, actually. They did need to make them. It turned out the reports from the Midgar reports Tseng had been poring over were all saying that Rhapsodos was already on his way. He did have a small contingent of soldiers with him, but—after Cissnei had updated him on the latest theory—Tseng was of the opinion that they were along more to handle Rhapsodos than to help him. Nothing Cloud and Tifa couldn’t deal with between them, anyway.

Tseng also seemed to be taking the whole thing better than Rufus, but Cloud was emotionally inept, not blind, as Aeris sometimes put it. He kept it up until that night, when they were half-dressed on the bed and his movements turned feverish and rough, a wild resistance that begged Cloud to beat him senseless. Instead Cloud fought him onto his belly, then smothered him with the help of blankets and some carefully-applied spellwork.

Complications of the other person usually having several inches on him, Cloud thought as he tugged the sheets off and looked over the pink chafing on Tseng’s arms and calves, where he’d used cloth instead of his hands. He wadded up the sheets off to the side, then settled into a sitting position by Tseng’s head.

The other man laid face-down for a few more minutes, his breathing slowing, and then turned over. “Why not knock me out?” he asked calmly, as if they were trading field tips. “Use the temple training. Or even a grip on the carotid.”

“And then you’d wake up right where you left off, plus disoriented and groggy. Better to let you work through it,” Cloud shrugged.

Tseng pushed himself up on his elbows, grunting. Then he let his arms slide out from under him and stared up at the ceiling. “Why not just fuck me through it?”

Cloud blinked at the crude language. But Tseng sounded like his mind was working, if a bit off, so eventually Cloud answered the question. “Because you need to work through it. If I fucked you like that, that’s just another way of putting yourself under. Plus you’d resent me for it later.”

A flicker of resentment passed over Tseng’s face right then. He pressed his lips together, then looked over at Cloud. Then he grimaced and rolled over onto his side, facing Cloud, his legs pulling up a little. He moved his hand over the mattress, aimlessly petting it, before abruptly pushing it up to wrap loosely over Cloud’s foot.

“All right,” he said quietly.

“I’m…it’s not like I’m really an expert,” Cloud added after a moment. He fidgeted himself, picking at his pants. “I’ve just…you can do something a lot, and get all the raw skill, right? But it doesn’t mean you’ve learned something. I was just running into things that helped and I picked them up and I didn’t really think about why they worked till this life, when Aeris started up this place. _She’s_ the one who really gets it.”

Tseng picked up his head. He looked at Cloud for a moment, then hauled himself over the last few inches so he really was curled up around Cloud. “Theory and practice are rightly separate, but I’m not in her bedroom,” he said. His mouth brushed over Cloud’s hand. “All due respect to her.”

Cloud opened his mouth to…say something stupid. Sometimes he caught himself in time. Instead he raised his hand and lightly stroked down Tseng’s head. His fingers sank into the thick, glossy black hair and he twisted them slowly, till the whole tail was wound around his hand. Tseng closed his eyes.

“I’d like to come with you,” Tseng said. His eyes stayed closed. “I’ll go with Rufus, that hasn’t changed. But I’d like—” he paused “—to come with you.” He paused again. “He’d like the same.”

“Yeah,” Cloud said. “Yeah, he said, more or less.”

* * *

They changed the plan anyway. One of Aeris’ regular patrons let slip that some of the greedier merchants were planning to cash in on the sizable bounty on Rufus’ head, and Tifa decided she should deal with it. Nanaki had reported in and was apparently happy to help yet _again_ , and he admittedly had the best healer contacts. So Tifa stayed back with Aeris, Nanaki whisked Lazard off somewhere, and Vincent came over to help Cloud catch Rhapsodos.

“Vincent Valentine,” Reno drawled, sprawling over the boulder next to Cloud. Tseng had cleared him and Cissnei for duty, and had insisted that Cloud take _one_ Turk with him. And Tifa had pulled a guilt trip and had ended up with Elena and Cissnei. “The dark horse. The shadow of Turks past. The one that fucked away. The— _shit_ , you did not say he was that pretty.”

The way magic fluxed and ebbed these days was too unpredictable to open up a gate anywhere except a heavily shielded, usually government-controlled building, or a wasteland with a lot of open space. And open space meant Vincent stood out like a bonfire on a dark night, even before you took in the gate shimmering behind him.

“How the fuck is he old enough to have banged Sephiroth’s mom? I mean, before—”

“Hojo. Experiments.” Cloud had to admit that he was staring some himself. “Please shut up, he’s not going to not shoot you just because you’re a Turk.”

The last time he’d seen Vincent, the man had just gone through an acrimonious break-up with Lucrecia. They hadn’t been a romantic couple since Lucrecia had, against Vincent’s wishes, signed away her rights to a toddler Sephiroth, but the two of them had retained a connection of sorts. At times it’d even verged on friendship. But Sephiroth had found out about Lucrecia—that was, Cloud and Tifa had made a point of letting him find out, despite Hojo’s best efforts to the contrary—and had eventually contacted her, and the three of them had met. Cloud hadn’t been there but clearly it’d gone badly for all parties involved, since they’d pointedly gone their separate ways afterward.

It never seemed quite _right_ , the way they kept making themselves miserable. But Cloud and Tifa had long since learned that they couldn’t shape good parents for Sephiroth. And unless they wanted him to die early and painfully, they couldn’t pull him out of Hojo’s clutches too young—and when he was older, he was old enough to pick for himself and he didn’t want to be weak and unknown. So the best they could do was provide information, and let the three do with it what they would. 

“…fuck me?” Reno was saying. “Hey, I know he works that red kimono, but it’s rude to stare.”

“I don’t know, why doesn’t Rufus think it’s a good idea for me to fuck you?” Cloud said. “Seems right in your wheelhouse, sex demon and everything.”

Reno barked a laugh, dropping down from the boulder. He ran one hand back through his hair, then resettled his sunglasses on his nose. “Good one, Strife. Actually, he’s letting you make the first move. Have to give it to Ruf, he doesn’t want to make assumptions about your type. And he does want you to be goddamn happy, that always makes it complicated. You wanna explain this to Valentine or should I do it?”

“Shut up,” Cloud sighed, and went forward to greet Vincent.

“Cloud,” Vincent said. He didn’t smile but he looked visibly pleased, which was almost more shocking. He’d cut his hair back, as short as when he’d been a Turk, and he had a Midgar-style black suit under the red…it wasn’t a kimono, it was a coat of very thin red leather, which fairly dripped with magic. It flapped around a bit in the wind and Vincent put his hand back to catch it. “Have they arrived yet?”

“Nope,” Reno said.

“When did you do that?” Cloud said, staring at Vincent’s arm. It was covered with glossy, golden plates—not metal, but _shell_. WEAPON shell. 

Vincent stilled, the life draining out of his face. He didn’t look down. “I’ve carried that since—”

“But we got you control over it,” Cloud said. “I thought you didn’t even transform anymore. Lucrecia said she figured out how to stop it.”

After a long silence, Reno pointedly cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, kicking at the pebbles. “Maybe we should move this? Seeing as we’ve got incoming and all?”

Vincent looked flatly at Reno. His face was still blank but it wasn’t exactly the same stoneface as before. It…was off. “You’re Reno?” he said tonelessly.

“Yep, that’s the name,” Reno said. He peered at Vincent, then looked sharply at Cloud. Then he threw up his hands and stalked off. “Oh, for the sake of fucking chocobos, I’m a _sex demon_ , this shouldn’t happen to me by _definition_ …”

Cloud fought down the urge to throw something at Reno, or start an exorcism. The man was right; the detection cantrips they’d set up earlier were going off one by one. “We should get to work.”

Vincent didn’t protest. He also didn’t say anything, or move. Just stared unhappily at Cloud—ah, emotion again. Not that that helped much. Cloud fought down the urge to imitate Reno, because no, and finally just pointed and muttered something about sightlines. Thankfully, Vincent took that, moving into a slow lope away.

* * *

The barren, treeless stretch where Vincent had gated in was a poor battleground for an asymmetric confrontation. Midgar had sent half a battalion, mostly infantry, with a few chocobo riders and supply wagons in the center. The infantrymen had plenty of room to maneuver, the chocobo riders had a good view of the area, and it was easy to convert the wagons into a makeshift fortress. And the officers seemed to know what they were doing, so they didn’t miss any of those details.

All of which meant they lasted about five minutes longer than usual. Cloud shut down all the magic for about a mile around, and then Vincent transformed. He broke the enemy lines twice while the apparent commander—not Rhapsodos—was attempting to have his men get the back of one wagon open. Which might as well have been a giant blinking sign for Cloud to go over there and have a look.

Rhapsodos came out like a firestorm, and quite clearly didn’t care who he was killing. He damn near handled the remainder of the soldiers himself. And got in a glancing slice at Cloud’s leg, because Cloud was checking whether Reno had gotten himself out of the way.

Stupid—Cloud parried Rhapsodos’ rapier, then spun away and to the left. He felt something in the air pull tight, like the pause before a gale; Rhapsodos glowered at him, half-crouched, clothes dirtied and awry, stringy hair. The man’s eyes were a harsh, hungry red. His lips writhed back from his teeth like an animal’s.

Then he flung himself at Cloud, his body and his magic, except it wasn’t magic, wasn’t power either, was just a ragged sucking _void_. And for a moment Cloud stared into it, deep into the yawning absence, and something stared back at him.

He…

There was a rushing by his ears. Not the wind. All the magic he’d been holding down, everything that the Midgar soldiers had brought with them, everything that’d already been in the land, and then everything that was in him. And that last everything, that blistering surge inside of him—it’d barely gotten started when Rhapsodos collapsed in front of him, blood gushing from his nose and mouth and ears. Cloud just caught him.

* * *

In the mirror, the room behind Aeris bustled with people, most of whom seemed to be carrying bolts of cloth. “Well, they didn’t have any gold and they had to pay _something_ for plotting against their mayor,” she said absently, looking into her tea cup. “So how long has it been?”

“Fifty-three minutes. I did a rough sealing ward on him but I can already feel it straining,” Cloud said. “I think I have another ten minutes and then we’ll have to take him outside.”

Aeris looked up sharply. “Outside? Cloud, he’s—”

“If I try to overload him in here, I’d blow up this entire village,” Cloud snapped. “It’s a barn. Just a barn. The place isn’t grounded for the waterproofing charms on the roof, let alone what I’d have to do.”

“And you’d _have_ to just dump magic into him.” Genuine pain crossed Aeris’ face. Then she gave herself a brisk shake and set her tea aside. “Look, just give him the mirror and let me talk to him.”

Cloud opened his mouth, paused, and then made an incredulous noise. “It’s not grounded for that either.”

“Yes, but I think the villagers will be much happier dealing with a surplus of wild magic over mage-scorched fields or melted houses,” Aeris said. She leaned forward so her face took up nearly the whole mirror. “ _I’ll_ talk it over with him. After everything he’s gone through, I think the last thing we want to do is withhold information and not give him a choice. If he hears everything and still insists on destroying everything, you can have it your way.”

“Aeris—”

“And yes, yes, I will talk to Rufus and Tseng, too,” Aeris sighed. “There _are_ options, Cloud. If you could please start acting like you know that, this would all go much faster.”

The door thudded softly behind Cloud. He gave Aeris a hurried look, then lowered the mirror to face his hip and turned around. Vincent kept his gold-clawed hand on the barn door a moment longer, then stepped forward. “Rufus Shinra?” he said. 

“Tifa didn’t tell you?” Cloud flicked his fingers so Aeris’ scolding, tinny at this distance, muted. 

“She said you two were allied,” Vincent said. He absently flexed his hand. “I assumed it was one of convenience. You’ve never seen eye to eye before.”

“When are you referring to?” Cloud said after a moment. For some reason, he thought Vincent was _upset_. Vincent had never really gotten along with Shinra, whether or not he remembered, but it’d never been about Cloud working with them. Just a general mistrust of them, which had mostly manifested in dire but oblique warnings to Cloud. “I mean, which life?”

“Which…” A definite flicker of frustration passed over Vincent’s face. He flexed his hand again.

The shell split into divisions very like the metal gauntlet Hojo had forced on him during his first life, but it didn’t click or grind like metal. Instead it seemed to—no, the plates clearly were stretching and shrinking with the movement, as if they had characteristics of leather. Then the hand was abruptly thrust forward, its fingers and thumb splayed so that Cloud could see the subtle iridescent ripple of magic across the plates.

“It seemed…counterproductive to deny it any longer,” Vincent said quietly. “I am not entirely human. To ignore that or to hide it is to ignore and hide my past.”

Cloud sighed, though he was oddly relieved. He knew this mood. “Whatever you thought going in, you had no idea how it was going to turn out.”

“And I do think I’ve made my peace with that,” Vincent replied, looking intently at Cloud. “But I have been…I have been very cowardly, in refusing to look at myself as I am now. I remember I wanted to do nothing—to be nothing, to just let the world pass me by and leave me untouched. And you insisted on waking me.”

“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” Cloud said, and only because Vincent had cocked his head as if expecting a response. Cloud shrugged uncomfortably. “We were friends, and…you weren’t really _resting_. You wanted rest but that’s not what you were doing. And I just thought you should get what you actually wanted.”

Vincent took a step forward, both his hands lifting. He—

—the sealing ward on Rhapsodos flared violently. Cursing, Cloud jerked sideways, then around Vincent. He yanked open the barn door and stormed inside, just as Reno sat up on his heels, his hands dripping with blood.

“Out,” Cloud snapped.

Reno didn’t look up. He rested his wrists on his knees and gazed almost serenely down at the prone body before him. A streak of blood angled over his cheek. Next to him, on the left side, was a line of thin, needle-like objects, each about two inches long and topped off with clusters of materia. One needle had a gobbet of flesh wrapped around it.

“Huh.” He held up another needle, then tossed it aside. “Doesn’t look like much, considering. Don’t get your panties in a twist, Strife, this is nothing compared to what he—you _son of a_ —”

Cloud let go almost as quickly as he’d grabbed Reno’s arm, sending the man off-balance. He seized Reno’s neck as Reno fell past him, then slewed around and flung the man onto the floor. 

“Do you _want_ him to turn you inside out?” Cloud snarled. He took a step towards Reno, then fell back and pressed his fists into his hips. Never mind Rhapsodos; calling up that much power without turning into WEAPON had left Cloud’s skin feeling tight and brittle, as if he was one step from shredding apart himself. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Reno stared at him, wide-eyed. It looked odd—the sunglasses were gone. Then Reno slouched back on his arms, rocking on his hands a little. “Well. Not where I thought you were going to go with that. I figured I’d take out the implants and see if he’s still sane under all that.”

“You figured you’d take them out and see whether you had an excuse to kill him,” Cloud muttered. He wasn’t going to lose it here. He’d been at this too long for that. He knew this kind of ache and knew it wasn’t really going anywhere. Didn’t make it any better to deal with. “And figured my wards would keep him down. They’re not that good, and you’re not that fast if they give way. Backlash from me will kill you just as quick.”

“Yeah, I…yeah, makes sense.” Still looking rattled, Reno shifted from side to side. Then he pushed himself up, his legs swinging under him. He wiped his hands on the dirt floor and looked at the clotted marks they left. “It hurt. When they sent him—when he—and for fuck’s sake, I _know_ he’s too good to kill. They’re always too good. Doesn’t fucking matter if they’re sane or human or even just not a fucking _black hole_ trying to swallow us all, right, they’re still useful. Keep ‘em around. Yeah, yeah.”

Cloud slowly uncurled two fingers of his left hand. Nothing happened so he uncurled another finger, smoothing the three straightened digits against his hip. “So?”

Reno jerked his head up. “So? What do you mean, so? Do you have—”

“Yeah, some,” Cloud muttered. He put his open left hand against his leg. The bones of his fingers hurt, deep down, but not like he couldn’t ride it. “I started out the reject clone, you know.”

“The what?” Reno said.

Cloud sighed. “Inside slang. Whatever, doesn’t matter now. For all we know I keep living on and on because I don’t matter enough to die, and everybody else matters enough to keep bringing back. I got over it.”

He couldn’t yet open his other fist, but he only needed one hand at the moment. Cloud walked past Reno and back towards where Rhapsodos was lying. He bent down, ignoring the considering, entirely coherent gaze Rhapsodos was turning on him, and then frowned as something rigid pushed into his thigh. Then he pulled the mirror out of his thigh pocket. Apparently, he’d remembered to not break that.

The glass was cool and clear, not a sign of Aeris. He put it down by Rhapsodos’ head and then ran his hand back and forth a few inches above Rhapsodos’ body. The needles had left bloody pits on Rhapsodos’ arms and thighs and chest; the holes were closing over by now, but the very tops of them were still ragged, swollen tears. And the lacework of the sealing wards over them was straining downwards, nearly torn.

“Fuck it.” Reno folded down next to Cloud. He stared at Rhapsodos, then sighed and put his hand on Cloud’s arm. “Fuck it, look at this. For once in my life, it’s all at my feet.”

“I don’t think he’s going to beg,” Cloud said dryly. While Rhapsodos was definitely watching them with visible nerves, he didn’t look anywhere near ready to cave. “You want to get _his_ feet for me?”

Reno looked at him for a moment, the way Tifa often did when she said even multiple lifetimes couldn’t make her understand. Then Reno rolled his eyes and grabbed onto Cloud’s arm with both hands. “Strife, you are fucked up and I don’t envy Rufus or the boss for wading into that crazy house. But let’s get one thing straight—I got a good, healthy ego and don’t need anybody stroking it. I got vengeful needs, all right, but—”

“Would you like to make sense before I blow out all the magic here?” Cloud said.

“Let’s fuck,” Reno said, and reached for the fly of Cloud’s trousers. He laughed when Cloud twitched away, taking the opportunity to drape himself over Cloud’s shoulder. “Look, asshole, I’m an incubus, you don’t got to explain jack shit to me. Rhapsodos can’t make the call yet so somebody else has to take one for the team. I’m even gonna do you a solid and keep you from being a complete _jackass_ to poor old Valentine.”

His fingers moved quickly, and had Cloud’s pants halfway down the hips by the time Cloud fully turned towards him. Cloud grabbed at Reno’s shoulders, stopping him so only his breath touched Cloud’s cock. It was hot and moist, and Reno’s glamor was tingling through it, a damnably effective lure, and all at once the ache in Cloud’s body went to molten lust.

“Oh, for—”

“I’m not arguing,” Cloud said. “Just—what you said about Rufus—”

Reno stilled. Even his fingers stopped where they were on Cloud’s thighs. “He’s not the boss,” he said after a moment. “But I did promise I’d be good around you.”

Cloud’s grip loosened. Just a little, but Reno took that little and ran with it all the way to nearly bringing Cloud off right then, downing Cloud’s cock in one firm swallow. They went over, Cloud just twisting to not fall on Rhapsodos. His hands clamped back on Reno’s shoulders and held him down while Reno’s magic slinked and stroked around them, dragging out Cloud’s magic a little at a time.

There was also that insistent, low, but growing tug next to them, like the suck of a hungry mouth. Reno curled himself away from it, leaning against Cloud’s leg, and Cloud belatedly pushed himself between it and Reno, playing his magic out like a fishing line. He heard/felt a kind of snap and then a wrench as the hook caught, and then he bucked sharply into Reno’s warm, willing mouth and went to pieces.

* * *

This time, only Rhapsodos’ nose bled. He grunted and tried to turn his head away when Cloud wiped at it, so Cloud let it be. Rhapsodos looked terrible, but better they get him through the gate while the void in him was sated.

Vincent came with them. That hadn’t been the plan but to be honest, Cloud hadn’t been paying much attention in the rush. And then Aeris was fussing and scolding, as if she didn’t have an army of servants and towels and cure materia ready on the other side of the gate, and Reno was making cracks about the whole fucking thing and Cloud just figured they’d send Vincent back later.

“They just tried to overthrow him,” Tifa said patiently. “Of course Rufus has to make public appearances. He needs to prove to everyone that it _didn’t work_. And anyway, I thought you two agreed he and Tseng should stay away till we had Rhapsodos stabilized.”

“I told you, he was waiting for you anyway,” Reno said. A couple of hard elbows from Cissnei had him reasonably muted, but he still made lewd gestures whenever Cloud looked remotely in the direction of his hands.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Vincent said stiffly.

Everyone looked at him. He stared impassively back at them and didn’t elaborate.

“It’s a set-up we know works,” Aeris said, just coming in. She was wiping her hands with a towel, her hair knotted up in a bun, sleeves pushed back. “It’s just like what Cloud’s been doing here for years, except instead of spreading the discharge over the whole town, it’s redirected into Genesis. I think I’ve even managed to calibrate it to deal with the cross-current that was causing the nosebleeds, although Cloud, you need to watch out that you don’t let the physical release build up too much. His body and his magic are still out of sync and until we figure out how they imbalanced him, we’ll have to rely on manual regulation.”

Tifa coughed under her breath. “That’s great to hear, but that wasn’t what Vincent was talking about.”

“I…” Then Vincent shut his mouth. His gold-plated hand flexed and his mouth twitched and Cloud belatedly realized the man was flustered. “Do you…”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Aeris put her hand to her mouth, looking embarrassed. Then she sighed and pushed a wisp of hair off her brow. “Oh, I’m sorry, you’ve been here for hours now and I’ve been so busy, but that’s hardly an excuse. Let me just ring the kitchen and have them send up some t—”

Cloud went for the door. When he reached it, he found he had a Reno attachment. He looked over his shoulder to glower and Reno shoved them both into the hall.

“Shut up and go while the girls are running interference,” Reno snapped. He gave Cloud another shove, then yanked the door shut. “Gaia, you really don’t deserve them, you know?”

“Yes,” Cloud said. He pulled his arm out of Reno’s grip, then gave up and just walked down the hall.

“You are an _asshole_ ,” Reno mused, loping alongside him. “Man, I know I know barely any of the story there, but you’re the guy’s friend and—”

“It’s not the first time he’s had a damn crush,” Cloud muttered.

That shut up Reno long enough for Cloud to get to his bedroom. Reno followed him in, then stopped just inside the door and whistled low.

“Damn. Hats off to Miss Gainsborough,” he said.

Rhapsodos was on Cloud’s bed. They’d stripped him and cleaned him up; Cloud knew Aeris would have cast as many healing spells as needed but the same thing that’d turned Rhapsodos into a walking magic drain must have been interfering with that, because he was still dotted with bruises where the needles had been implanted. He also was bound spread-eagled, with heavily-spelled leather cuffs on his wrists and ankles. On one side of the bed, set on a portable stand, was a tray carved from hundred-year balsam and lined with padded velvet. It held a selection of chastity devices.

Reno sauntered over to the tray, whistling cheerfully, his eyes nailed to Rhapsodos’ equally challenging stare. “Well, well, and on short notice, too,” he drawled. “Just for the record, I love Aeris.”

“Everybody loves her,” Cloud said. He bent down and touched the side of the cuff on Rhapsodos’ right ankle, then swung it out of the way as it fell open. Then he turned around and sat down on the side of the bed; Rhapsodos had instinctively jerked his foot out of the way but he stopped with it still hovering in the air. Cloud ignored him and pulled up one leg to unlace his boot. Behind him, the other ankle chain clicked against the bedpost as it fell loose. “I’m—”

“Cloud Strife, possessor of more than enough magic to satiate even my hunger.” Rhapsodos put down his foot. He had enough slack in his wrist chains to pull himself into a half-sitting position against the headboard. “I’ll remain sane so long as you continue to channel power into me, which, for various reasons, you prefer to do via deviant sexual acts.”

Barking laugh from Reno. “Hey, asshole, we gave you your life back. You want to respect the fact that we’d rather not blow up our base while we’re at it?”

“I am perfectly capable of comprehending the degree of sorcerous infrastructure required to deal with my current state. In fact, I’d wager that I could explain the necessity for purging me in a controlled manner _before_ providing a transfusion in the crude words you’d need to understand,” Rhapsodos said. He’d pulled his legs together a bit, but they were nowhere near closed, and his obvious discomfort didn’t seem to have much to do with his physical position. “But it remains that I am chained to a bed, and you are not.”

“I’ll take them off you in a second.” Cloud dropped the second boot on the floor, then put one hand up on the side of his neck. He turned his head back and forth till he felt the pop in his spine. “Just wanted to make sure nobody was going to try and kill anybody.”

Rhapsodos faltered. He’d been building up to something grandly cutting, but even he couldn’t shake off the past few weeks that easy. When Reno moved, Rhapsodos went still in such an obvious manner that both Reno and Cloud looked at him.

“Shit,” Reno said after a moment. He looked over Rhapsodos a little more reflectively. “I think I’m getting soft, or something. I’m disappointed they didn’t leave me more to fuck up.”

“Or you’re getting off on the residue here,” Cloud said. “We were fucking a lot.”

That earned him a narrow-eyed, strangely offended look. Then Reno rocked back on his heels, his normal insouciance restored. “ _Shit_ , you are one _dumb_ fucking savior, Cloud. One of them’s always going to figure out you’re just waiting for it, and drag the other one back, and look, I’m gonna go wash up. You sit there and get over your martyr complex and lemme know when I should bother giving a hand.”

He stalked towards the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went. By the time he’d disappeared inside, he was down to his trousers and socks, and Rhapsodos was raising his brows at _Cloud_.

“You give them a long leash, I see,” Rhapsodos said.

“I guess you’d think that.” Cloud drummed his fingers on the bed, then pushed himself up and over. He elbowed aside Rhapsodos’ legs and resettled himself between them but at a good distance from the other man. “So?”

So Rhapsodos looked at him, mouth tense and flat, stare shaky under a thin but ferocious veneer. The man had frozen his legs where Cloud had shoved them, one awkwardly twisted against the bed so his weight teetered on his hip. It strained him to keep still that way, sweat beading on his brow and shining in the hollows of his collarbone, leather cuffs creaking as his arms dragged on them.

“You said you were a clone,” Rhapsodos finally offered. It wasn’t what he wanted to go with, said the tic of the muscle by his mouth.

“A long, long time ago,” Cloud said. He could only remember the rage and helplessness and revulsion he’d used to feel about that word. It didn’t mean the same thing anymore: you didn’t even need flesh and blood if you could get hold of the right mage and a sculptor. On the other hand, you never could detach a magical clone from its forebear. When they died, the clone died. So not so much of a question, there. “And like I told Reno, not a great one. I don’t think Sephiroth and I even qualified as blood family.”

“Sephiroth?” Rhapsodos half-laughed, half-choked. He dropped awkwardly off his hip, then winced absently as the chains pulled him up short. “He never likes to mention the failures.”

Cloud shrugged. “He must be really different, this life. You never could get him to shut up about it before.”

Rhapsodos jerked on his chains again, trying to straighten up. His eyes ran across Cloud’s face over and over again. “You haven’t…met?”

“Not in this life.” Cloud shrugged again. “I keep track of him, but I don’t see why I needed to actually see every reincarnation in person.”

He waited a few seconds, but Rhapsodos just laid there. The man wasn’t even staring at Cloud now; he was looking at a point past Cloud, frowning and thinking hard.

He snapped back to attention when Cloud stretched over him, pushing back into the headboard so the cuff swung just out of Cloud’s reach. Cloud paused, then put down his arm. Rhapsodos gritted his teeth, his lips pulling away from them in a last flare of injured pride. Then he made a visible effort to relax into the pillows.

“Well, get on with it,” he said.

Cloud reached for the cuff again and Rhapsodos hissed at him, then tried to kick Cloud. Instead of blocking the blow, Cloud surged up the bed so it grazed harmlessly over his back, unable to make the tight angle. He clamped his hands down on Rhapsodos’ arms, pulling _up_ so the man’s struggles just bucked their torsos against each other. “You want to live, I get it,” he said over Rhapsodos’ curses. “You’ll live. Chains on or off?”

“Get _off_ me, you—”

Rhapsodos twisted his head away when he felt Cloud’s mouth on his ear. But Cloud had already closed his teeth over it and that just dragged the tender flesh over them. He could feel the tiny pinpricks where the man had once worn mage jewels, the first hot flush of abrasion. The way the hole in Rhapsodos opened up, so strong even the dampening wards on the room couldn’t entirely seal it, and so _hungry_.

“On or off?” Cloud said. He removed his mouth from Rhapsodos’ ear, but kept his head where it was.

The other man twisted again, his head turned as far away from Cloud as it could. He inhaled sharply, angrily, and then held it when Cloud kissed the taut curve of his neck.

“Off?” Cloud breathed, licking at a faint streak of sweat. He slid his right hand up Rhapsodos’ arm to the elbow, and then over.

“On,” Rhapsodos said, curt and through clenched teeth.

“Okay.” Cloud pulled himself off the other man.

Rhapsodos sucked in his breath, then spat it out again almost as quickly. As much lust as anger was in his burning eyes. He breathed in again, more deeply, and then jerked about as Reno got onto the bed, tray in one hand.

As promised, Reno was freshly washed, with damp hair and traces of soapy sheen here and there. And he was naked, his long limbs folding around Cloud’s right side as he nuzzled Cloud’s neck. “Sorry, hate to interrupt, but figured you’d need that hand.”

“I can’t believe Tseng lets you mouth off like that,” Cloud sighed, but he took the tray. He set it on his knees, letting Reno keep nipping and licking at his neck, and allowed Rhapsodos to get a good eyeful of the contents.

The chastity devices were all made of golden metal, and butterflied open against the velvet. Three of the four enclosed the scrotum as well as the cock; two were close-fitting shells while two consisted of rings on straps of leather or silk, respectively. Cloud picked up one of the shells, watching Rhapsodos’ gaze move over it, and then put it down and picked up the other one.

He handed the tray back to Reno, who reluctantly pulled away from Cloud. But then the man just stopped there, holding the tray and giving Rhapsodos’ groin a frank assessment. “Well, that’s going to take some work to fit.”

Cloud caught the arm Reno stretched out, then gave Reno’s wrist an extra squeeze. Then he turned to study the half-risen erection, and not the surprise on Rhapsodos’ face. He shifted the cock cage in his hand, turning it so it lay lengthwise over his palm, and then sat up on his heels to dig into his pocket with his free hand.

After a moment, he came up with a small blue sphere, swirling with frosty white. He heard Reno talking in the background but didn’t pay it any attention. Instead he lifted the sphere between index finger and thumb till he could blow on it with his mouth.

His breath passed over it, cooled sharply, made a tiny puff of condensation that didn’t do a thing to chill the stare Rhapsodos was giving Cloud through it. Rhapsodos held perfectly still, watching the ice materia instead of Cloud, until the little blue circle was nearly touching him. Then the man bucked—up, not back, too hasty—and Cloud pushed the materia firmly against the side of Rhapsodos’ cock.

Rhapsodos bit down viciously on his gasp, but he couldn’t keep his hips from jerking against the bed. Cloud had to grab one thigh and hold it down so the ice materia could dissolve completely into Rhapsodos’ cock. The flesh around it rapidly lost its heated flush, wilting even as Rhapsodos’ magic surged up, clutching wildly at Cloud’s personal shielding. Cloud pressed his thumb over the fading bluish spot where the materia had been and Rhapsodos let out a grudging but genuine moan.

A warm body draped himself against Cloud’s back. He turned his head, blinked at the red strands falling over his shoulder, and then recovered before Reno noticed.

“Now that’s what I call stone-cold professionalism,” Reno purred. He rubbed his cheek against Cloud’s face, then paused. Then he sighed and put his head on Cloud’s shoulder. “Okay, so I’m kind of mouthy, and don’t put it the right way. Still, you don’t have to take it that way.”

“Yeah,” Cloud said after a moment. As Reno began running his hands down Cloud’s back, Cloud turned back to Rhapsodos. He looked at the man’s cock, then touched it with one finger.

It was limp, and chilly enough that Cloud pressed his lips together. Maybe he’d picked a materia that was too—he looked up and found Rhapsodos biting his lip, a drop of blood already running down his chin. Rhapsodo’ pupils were wide and black, and only got wider as Cloud experimentally lifted the cock cage. His hips shifted minutely against the bed, his feet pushing the sheets up towards Cloud.

He let out a long, low, almost mournful breath when Cloud lowered the cock cage. Then he grimaced. His shoulders and arms hitched up, a flicker of indignity in his eyes, and then Cloud wrapped his hand around Rhapsodos’ cock and Rhapsodos hissed.

Cloud didn’t do anything, just left his fingers there, and watched the realization dawn on Rhapsodos’ face. Then the frustration, the half-hearted attempt at stoicism, the deeper realization about what that failing pride meant. He felt Reno move behind him and raised his arm to block the way, then lowered it when Reno fell back. Reno half-muffled a question against Cloud’s back, then snorted and slid his hands up under Cloud’s shirt.

The cock cage was body-warm in Cloud’s hand now, the metal so smooth that it almost didn’t register now that the chill was gone. He moved it forward till it was right under Rhapsodos’ cock, then eased it around the slowly stirring flesh. Rhapsodo blinked dazedly at it, as if he didn’t quite think it was there, and then blinked again, hard.

Cloud closed the cage with a flick of his fingers, then ran his thumb down the side. There was no seam; magic sealed the metal as if it had always been one piece. A rounded lip circled the rim at the base of Rhapsodos’ cock and Cloud followed it with his thumb, then worked his hand underneath to take hold of the loose ring dangling from the cage. He locked it around Rhapsodos’ scrotum and Rhapsodos twisted roughly in his bonds, breathing hard, indistinct noises trapped behind clenched teeth.

Slow and deliberate, Cloud drew his fingers back over the silky metal, following the wavy slits that both ventilated and decorated the cock cage. There were five of them, closely spaced together, with a larger stretch between rounds of them so that the cage looked like a many-stranded necklace wrapping up Rhapsodos’ cock. Through the slits the flesh was already rosy, pushing up against the warm gold. 

Reno murmured something about how good that looked, how pretty it was, all pinched in, and Rhapsodos stifled a groan even as his eyes narrowed. Cloud pulled Reno back again, then kissed him when Reno complained. It surprised the man, his mouth slack for a good second before he responded. Then he was laughing, licking at Cloud’s lips as he playfully pulled at Cloud’s clothing.

He pushed them over and then crawled on top, his hips swinging in a rough, teasing drag over Cloud’s groin. Rhapsodos swore at them, legs bumping at Cloud’s head and knee, but that just seemed to encourage Reno. Cloud looked over the head currently cradled against his chest in time to see Rhapsodos’ foot push into the soft white flesh of Reno’s buttock; Reno arched _into_ it, sucking at Cloud’s collarbone.

“Mean son of a bitch,” Reno purred. He looked over and his eyes were hazy with lust, yes, but that wasn’t the only thing simmering in them. He made as if to go for Rhapsodos, then sank back into the hand Cloud had clamped over his neck. “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

“Are you expecting an apology?” Rhapsodos said, sounding far more coherent than he looked.

Cloud pushed himself up on one arm. He cradled Reno’s head against his chest, rolling his fingertips in small circles over Reno’s throat, and then leaned over and licked at the head of Rhapsodos’ cock.

The cage stopped just behind there, the cool lip clicking against Cloud’s teeth as he mouthed around it. A slick of precum came off on his tongue; he rubbed it off on the roof of his mouth, letting Rhapsodos’ cock rest on his lower lip, then craned his neck to keep the cock there when Rhapsodos jerked. The weight of the cage kept dragging the cock down.

“Nah,” Reno was saying, lazy and light. “I know what a control implant means. Just, it fucking _hurt_. ‘s all I’m saying.”

“It—” Rhapsodos snarled under his breath “—lacked honor.”

“Fuck honor.” Reno dug his nails into Cloud, hard enough for Cloud to start. The man looked almost sorry when he realized, and he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to Cloud’s jaw. Then he looked contemptuously up at Rhapsodos. “Okay? Fuck you. It was beyond the fucking pale. But you couldn’t do jack shit about it, and mad as I fucking am, I _get_ that, so don’t fucking throw words like _honor_ around, like it makes it all make sense.”

“I _need_ —” Rhapsodos started, fury so stark and strong that Cloud reached into the wards on the room, prepared to shut the man down. But then Rhapsodos dropped back, the anger gone as suddenly as it’d come. “I know,” he finally said. His voice had a painful hollowness to it. “I _know_.”

“Well, talk about killing the mood,” Reno said after a moment. He pushed up off of Cloud, his hand trailing down over the spots he’d clawed. “Whatever. Fuck that. It’s over.”

Rhapsodos stared at them for a few seconds, frowning. He was still breathing hard, his arms beginning to tremble as they hung off the chains. He looked at Reno, then at Cloud, then back at Reno. “I _am_ —”

“Not really what I want from you.” Reno didn’t openly acknowledge the grip Cloud still had on him, but his weight was settling back on Cloud. Then he laughed and looked back at Cloud. The laugh was oddly open and so were his eyes, for once amused without malice. “Gaia, you’re an asshole but you’re the real deal, too, aren’t you?”

“You’re full of shit,” Cloud said. He moved closer, paused so Reno could snicker, and then pressed their mouths together.

Reno was shivering, under the raw shameless honesty. Cloud could feel the man closing his eyes against Cloud’s brow, dropping into the kiss. He ran his hand up and down Reno’s back, then purposefully pushed power into the other man. For an incubus Reno had been remarkably controlled, but at that he yelped and twisted and sucked it down, his head coming up to look half-offended, half-dazed.

“Gaia,” he said. “You’re a fucking banquet.”

“Shut up.” Cloud dropped his hand to cup one of Reno’s buttocks, then turned them towards the third man. “So?”

Rhapsodos looked calmer, more composed, at least until his trembling foot bumped up against Cloud. He licked at his lip and a round dot of blood welled up on the curve, then broke over it to stain the lip crimson. “I want—I want him,” he said. A little tight in the throat, but clear enough. “Well?”

“Well, can I?” Reno rolled his hips against Cloud’s groin.

Cloud considered it, rubbing and plumping Reno’s buttock with his hand. He pinched it and Reno threw back his head, moaning. Then he moved his hand up to the back of Reno’s neck.

He let the weight of the hand fall there for a moment, then used the grip to pull Reno off of him and into a kneeling position before Rhapsodos. Reno bobbed his head after Rhapsodos’ cock and Cloud pulled him up, shaking him from side to side. Rhapsodos said something uncomplimentary about Cloud’s parentage and Cloud shrugged, pushed Reno’s head down. Reached over that and lifted Rhapsodos’ cock out of the way, crooking his thumb so its nail slid along one of the slits. He guided Reno’s mouth behind it, behind the scrotum. “Lick,” he said.

Reno licked. At least, Cloud assumed, judging from the way Rhapsodo suddenly ground his hips down. All that messy red hair was in the way so Cloud couldn’t see. He pushed at it a few times, but Reno kept taking it as a sign to stop and Rhapsodos was just frustrated, cursing as much as he was moaning. So finally Cloud gave the back of Reno’s head a firm push, then left the man to it.

He got off the bed and went down to the end, where he detached the empty ankle cuffs from the posts. Then he carried those back up to the top of the bed and attached them to the same rings as the wrist cuffs. He played out the chains, then caught one flailing foot and fastened the cuff around it.

Rhapsodos turned his head towards Cloud, but his eyes were unfocused. Even so, Reno redoubled his efforts between the man’s legs, and by the time Cloud got the second ankle chained down, there was a distinctly desperate edge to Rhapsodos’ moaning. Then the moans broke. Rhapsodos arched, mouth wide in a soundless gasp. His eyes squeezed shut.

“Reno,” Cloud said. He waited a moment, then got back on the bed and dragged Reno back by one arm and the throat. Reno fought it, growling, and Cloud slapped the back of Reno’s thigh.

That made Reno drop to the mattress. He grimaced, then dipped his head to wipe the spit off his mouth. His shoulders were still tense but he pushed up against Cloud when Cloud moved past him.

Cloud cupped his hands around Rhapsodos’ lolling head, holding them very still, careful to make that the only contact between them. For the first few seconds, even that was too much for the man, his whole body shaking as jagged little sounds spilled from his mouth.

He got used to it, slowly, the tightness easing from around his eyes. His lashes fluttered and Cloud gently ran his thumbs along Rhapsodos’ jawline. Rhapsodos let out a shuddering, raspy breath and opened his eyes. They took a moment to focus, then hazed over again as Cloud eased his hands down the length of Rhapsodos’ neck. Cloud could see the man bracing himself.

When Cloud just petted his shoulders, Rhapsodos looked confused. His skin was sticky with sweat, tingling with frayed magic, but Cloud kept smoothing his palms over it in light, short strokes and gradually the fevered heat under it cooled. Rhapsodos’ breathing grew more regular.

“Hurts, right?” Reno said. He leaned against Cloud’s back, his chin hooked on Cloud’s shoulder, hands on Cloud’s hips. “Like nothing’s ever hurt. It’s this _ache_ , not bone, not muscle, not hunger. Just twists up in your cock and aches.”

He reached down for Rhapsodos’ cock and didn’t even try to avoid Cloud’s intercepting hand. Instead he curled his arm into the pull, so his knuckles were almost brushing Cloud’s mouth before Cloud really registered.

“Not yet?” Reno said, playful.

Cloud glanced at Rhapsodos, who shivered once, then slackened against the pillows. Frustrated but not beaten.

“All right, now,” Cloud said, and pushed Reno down between Rhapsodos’ knees.

* * *

They went another round, Reno sucking his way up and down Rhapsodos’ perineum till the man’s eyes were shut again, a few drops leaking from the corners, and then Cloud tugged Reno down to the far enough of the bed and had Reno bring him off. Reno used his mouth and his hands, tugging and rolling Cloud’s balls between long sly fingers, while his hips rutted against the mattress. Then he half-slid onto his side, trails of coruscating magic spilling from his stretched lips to flicker over his face and throat.

“Mmm,” he said. He gave Cloud a wide, satiated grin. “Okay. Half-hour, something like that?”

“What?” Rhapsodos rasped. Then he made an attempt to move, seeing where Cloud was going. His worn muscles only really managed a glower. “I said—”

“I’m not dealing with dislocated shoulders.” Cloud just detached the wrist cuffs from the chains. He didn’t take them off.

He also held Rhapsodos’ arms up, one by one, by the cuffs while Rhapsodos writhed and hissed through the blood rushing back into stiff muscles. Then he did the same with the ankle cuffs. The effort of that kept Rhapsodos limp on the bed anyway while Cloud poured them some water.

Reno was already asleep, his head tucked into the curve of his outflung arm. Cloud put two fingers on the man’s shoulder and concentrated; there was a shimmer over the other man, translucent gold and pulsing slowly, and then Cloud withdrew his hand. Incubi varied with age how dependent they were on regular foodstuffs, and Reno was not that old, even by mortal terms, but he seemed to have gotten what he needed from their climaxes.

Cloud turned to Rhapsodos, who watched him through half-lidded eyes. He tipped half a cup of water into the man, then set the glasses aside and slid in behind him. Rhapsodos twitched, his breath hitching, as Cloud wrapped his arms around the man’s waist. 

“What?” Cloud said.

Rhapsodos’ arms dangled as if all of the weight was in his hands. He closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at his hands. Then he closed them again, sighing, as Cloud reached around and clipped the rings on his wrist cuffs together.

Cloud dragged Rhapsodos the rest of the way into his lap, then worked them over to the edge of the bed. He’d left an open jar of oil by the water glasses, and now he dipped his fingers into it. The oil was cool to touch and once he’d pulled his fingers out, he just let them rest against the rim. Checked the wards while he waited, mentally feeling out along each line to make sure it was still tied into the moonstones they’d buried beneath the house.

“She said four hours on, four off, for now,” Rhapsodos said. “That seems—insufficient.”

“Aeris knows what she’s doing,” Cloud said. He tipped Rhapsodos a little more to the side so the pillows would cradle the man. “Anyway, nobody’s coming after you right now. We’ve got at least a few days to figure the right cycle, and I wouldn’t put it past her to get started on just fixing this.”

“She won’t. I mean no disrespect to your—I acknowledge her capability.” Beneath the exhaustion, Rhapsodos’ voice was tightening. “But this isn’t mere alchemical manipulation. There’s something—I always felt as if I were empty. Something taken out before I was even born, a room readied for their abuses.”

Jenova was gone, Cloud reminded himself. He didn’t hide the deep breath he took. “You didn’t want what they put in you, you hate it, but still, it’s something you have, and something more than what you had.”

Rhapsodos stiffened. “Have we met?” he asked lowly. “You said you had never met Sephiroth, but…”

He didn’t remember. But earlier, for a moment, he’d sounded like—well, he could understand reincarnation without remembering. Cloud shook his head, then pulled Rhapsodos closer. He worked the man around so that his legs were spread over Cloud’s knees, then reached between them with both hands. One wrapped over the cock cage, the other went back farther, pressing up against a hole still wet with Reno’s spit.

“No, we haven’t,” Cloud said.

He didn’t sound that convincing. Rhapsodos managed a few tries at questions before the insistent nudging of Cloud’s fingers grew too much for him, his bound hands falling against his thigh, his head back against Cloud’s shoulder. Cloud went slowly with his fingers, stretching Rhapsodos fully around them before he began to push them over the man’s prostate.

He had to hold up the cock cage because otherwise the weight would have kept it hanging down, pushing Rhapsodos’ balls in the way of Cloud’s other hand. But the sight of it was a reason to do it too, the slick shine of the metal against the soft matte of Rhapsodos’ skin, the glimpses of Rhapsodos’ tortured cock swelling and softening repeatedly under the slits. Rhapsodos broke down into strangled mewls, somehow finding the energy to buck futilely back into the fingers tormenting him within. He started to shake his head back and forth, only to shudder when Cloud kissed the stretched length of his neck.

His ass clenched and clutched at Cloud’s fingers, as if trying to drive them further inside. Cloud kept them where they were, directly over the prostate, at the same even rhythm. He watched the shivers traveling up Rhapsodos’ thighs. Felt the tightening of the man’s scrotum against his wrist. Constant, merciless pressure, drawing Rhapsodos inwards. Even his shaking ceased. His body was a still, tightly-coiled spring against Cloud.

One brush of power over him and he snapped, his feet kicking in the sheets. Cloud moved his hand up to the top of the cock cage, sweeping away the dribbles of come as they were forced out, never stopping his massage of Rhapsodos’ prostrate. Rhapsodos let out an agonized moan, then collapsed with his face against Cloud’s cheek. He barely moved as magic poured up through Cloud and into him.

“Wanted a nap,” someone complained sleepily. Reno watched them from the end of the bed, still curled up, the lust in his eyes belying his tone. “Shit, but that looked fun.”

“Go back to sleep,” Cloud said. He slowed the rush of magic into Rhapsodos to a trickle as he worked himself out from under the man. After a quick look over Rhapsodos, Cloud pushed him down to lie on his side and then began looking for something to wipe off his hand. “Half-hour, then the next round.”

* * *

After the cock cage finally came off, Rhapsodos fell asleep with a vaguely startled expression on his face, as if he hadn’t thought that that was possible. Shortly afterward, Aeris came by with a basket of towels and toiletries, and a couple faintly reproving comments about Vincent. But she let Cloud go with only that, which was…more worrying.

“Yeah, well, sometimes you fuck up, and your friends call you out on it, and sometimes they can’t be bothered,” was Reno’s contribution. The second round had left him over-energized and bouncing on his feet, and it was a small mercy when he spotted Cissnei at the end of one hall and immediately took off for her.

Cloud found Tifa in her room, surrounded by stacks of books. “No, you don’t have to talk to Vincent right now,” she said without looking up. “For once, I do think it’s better if you give him a little time. But you’ll have to do it at some point.”

“Fine. Is Rufus back?”

Tifa’s head came up immediately. She looked him over, then gave him one of her rare smiles of approval. “He stopped in for some food, but then had to go. I think he’s trying to use the assassination attempt to scare the other cities into signing onto _his_ draft.”

Cloud was relieved. And he wasn’t. His gut was trying to relax and knot up at the same time. He tried to concentrate on the books around Tifa.

“Tseng’s around,” Tifa said, still watching him. “I just sent him down to the library, actually.”

“Then who’s with Rufus?” Cloud said. He dropped the book in his hand and straightened up, but just looked at the door. He was overreacting. Tseng knew what he was doing.

“Elena and Rude.” Tifa studied him for a moment longer, then sighed. She shuffled through the nearest stack of books and pulled out a thick volume. “You can help me look up magical sinks, if you want.”

“I…” Cloud looked at the door again. When he looked back, Tifa was already buried in the book, and not doing a good job of using it to hide her smile.

He went down to the library. People were surprised all the time when they found it, partly because it was behind a swiveling cabinet of whips and switches. Partly because they didn’t really get the idea of a courtesan, no matter how many times it was explained to them.

Tseng didn’t look surprised, though Cloud caught the little head-tip towards the clock sitting on one shelf. He was standing in front of another shelf, his fingertips touching a book on it as if he’d been running them across the spines. “I apologize for the delay,” he said. “I don’t quite understand your cataloging system.”

“That’s because Aeris came up with it. Her house.” It combined subject matter with reliability of the author, and also positioned more frequently-used volumes on lower shelves. To be honest, Cloud didn’t really follow it himself and had just memorized the layout. “How…how did it go?”

At that Tseng did look surprised. He frowned, then glanced irritably back at the shelf. Then he sighed and pulled down a book, and turned towards Cloud. “The ringleaders were taken into custody and Tifa and Rufus largely agree on whom to release and whom not. Rufus is…”

He’d taken a step towards Cloud and Cloud had tensed. Tseng’s frown smoothed away into an impassive expression. He took another step, then pulled his feet together and let his arms drop to clasp the book against his thighs. His eyes lowered. They stayed down for a second, then rose.

Cloud grimaced, then reached out and put his hand on Tseng’s shoulder before he could think too much about it. Tseng started, jerking his head to look at the grip, and that _had_ been fear in his eyes. For a second Cloud was surprised.

Well, said a voice in his head, one very much like Tifa, they’re not me, idiot. They don’t know you past this life.

Then Tseng had turned his head back, his gaze dropping to the floor. He shivered and made a visible effort to still his shoulders. Then he sank gracefully to his knees, tilting slightly so his head leaned against Cloud’s extended arm. They held their respective positions for a few quiet moments.

“I hate it when Reno’s right,” Cloud finally muttered. He felt Tseng move under his hand and stepped forward, pressing his leg into Tseng’s face.

Tseng took the invitation, rubbing his cheek into Cloud’s thigh like an oversized cat. “About what? I can speak to him if he’s bothering you.”

“No, don’t,” Cloud muttered. If anything, that’d just egg Reno on.

“Is something the matter?” Tseng asked. He made a soft, pleased noise as Cloud’s fingers slid into his hair, loosening the strands from their taut stretch over the man’s skull. He was still using the black ribbon to tie them back, even though it seemed to slide down his hair at the lightest touch. “Do you want to speak to Rufus? He should be within scrying range.”

“Do you think he’d want me to?” Cloud said without thinking.

Tseng twisted his head so he could see up past Cloud’s arm. He moved slowly, careful of Cloud’s fingers in his hair. 

Cloud grimaced. “Damn it. Look, forget—”

“You’ve lived here for quite a while,” Tseng said. Abruptly. He winced, just as unsure here as Cloud. “I mean no insult. But…the guild license is genuine, and well-deserved, or at least that’s what I believed. I…we…are we wrong about…”

“Well, I never have been part of the staff but that’s just labels. I did what they did—been doing it a lot longer, whatever they were calling it at the time.” Cloud looked around, then pulled over a chair with his free hand. He sat down in it and then tugged on Tseng’s hair till the other man was kneeling between Cloud’s knees. “You’d think I’d have figured out what to do when you don’t want to leave me.”

Tseng was too intelligent to take that at face value. It hit him on other levels, which did show on his face and in the start of his hands against Cloud’s ankles, but he kept his mouth shut and thought it through. 

“And this doesn’t do it, you know,” Cloud added after a moment. “Yeah, it feels good, and sometimes it feels like I have a grip on things, but with one person it’s fun and with other it’s like sharing blood.”

“I understand,” Tseng said quietly. He raised his hand and touched the back of Cloud’s wrist. “I will not promise things you already know I cannot, but I do understand.”

“And you don’t hate me for it, at least right now.” That last part was unfair on Tseng; it felt awkward and mean slipping out of Cloud’s mouth, more about him than the man watching him so solemnly. He didn’t want to see Tseng’s reaction to it and bent down to press his mouth against Tseng’s temple. “I don’t get it, but all right, I’m not going to fight about it.”

Tseng’s throat cleared like he was going to speak, but he must have changed his mind because the next thing, he was sucking gently at the side of Cloud’s hand. He let Cloud move his head to lie on Cloud’s knee, barely stirring when Cloud ran one hand down his back, up under the hem of his suit jacket, and pulled out the scrying mirror from a pocket hidden in the lining.

Rufus was on his way to some meeting, but he shut up a protesting herald with a peremptory gesture so he could draw Cloud a sarcastic verbal picture of the utter failure the attempted coup had been. “So you had fun,” Cloud said, amused. “When are you coming back?”

The other man blinked. Just a flicker and suddenly his cynicism was gone and in its place was raw surprise. He attempted to gather himself—a door shut somewhere behind him—then just looked at Cloud through the mirror. “Aeris said you’d need a day or so for calibration,” he said simply. “I’m not needed.”

“You can be around, if you want. If you don’t want to, don’t come. It’s messy enough, you don’t have to make it messier.” Cloud hesitated. “I wouldn’t mind if you came.”

“Oh.” Rufus pressed his lips together. Then he grimaced as Dark Nation’s paws suddenly appeared, dragging at one of his arms. He patted absently at the dog, then sighed and looped his arm over Dark Nation’s neck; he relaxed when the dog crawled into his lap. “All right.”

Then Rufus cut off the connection. It could’ve been all right to just acknowledge what Cloud was saying, or all right to agree to coming, but they’d just wait and see.

* * *

Rufus didn’t come back that night, or for the next few days, although he was apparently talking to Tseng since Tseng would regularly turn up to let Cloud and Tifa know how the treaty talks were going. Once Cloud came out of his bedroom and found Tseng waiting outside for him, every inch of the man carefully poised.

It wasn’t a surprise when Tseng used his room instead of Cloud’s to rest. He seemed surprised when Cloud also showed up there, but didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t answer many, either. Even Cloud couldn’t help asking whether Tseng wanted to see Rhapsodos at some point, but all Tseng said was that he was thinking on it.

“He’s fine,” Reno said, unprompted. “Just figuring out his approach. Which is as much about Gen as it is about the boss, you know.”

Rhapsodos had stayed in Cloud’s room for the first two break sessions. The third had coincided with breakfast and he’d appeared in the dining room doorway, impeccably groomed and dressed, the only sign of his status the bright tracery of the sealing ward over his sword-hand. He’d looked as if someone had slapped him when Aeris had placidly directed him to an already-set place and then had inquired after whether he took coffee or tea and how, and had only slightly relaxed when Tifa had pointed out that the entire house could be flipped to containment in a heartbeat.

“It’s absurd,” he said to Cloud. He’d agreed to update their maps with what he knew of Midgar’s troop movements, although he’d pointed out that they likely were better-informed as they hadn’t been imprisoned, drugged and tortured. “You still have no guarantee that I’m a better ally than foe. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ is a phrase only the naïve take stock in, and if that’s your act, then you’re quite awful at it.”

“I can guarantee that I can kill you, incapacitate you or help you,” Cloud said.

His mind was more on the red dots Genesis had been marking down around Kalm than on what he’d been saying. It wasn’t till Genesis made them all burst into flame that he looked up, catching the chagrined look on the other man’s face, and then he really heard what he’d said.

“I meant with the power drain,” Cloud said, sighing. He waved his hand to make the flames go out, then shrugged off Genesis’ incredulous stare. “No, you’re not the only one who sets things on fire. Stop trying to cast, Aeris hasn’t cleared you for that yet.”

“You’re insane,” Genesis said abruptly.

“Yeah, probably,” Cloud said.

“He’s stable, so we don’t care,” Tifa said, coming in. She handed Cloud a fresh batch of reports, then dropped into her seat and rested her chin on her hands. When Genesis stormed out past her, she just activated the sticking spells on the table so the maps wouldn’t fly away. “Just talked to Aeris, she says the castings she did on him this morning were a lot better. We can probably push his off period to eight or nine hours, even if he’s got no control.”

Cloud got up and closed the door, which Genesis had slammed so hard it’d jumped back from its frame. “You’re not saying it like it’s good news.”

“No, that’s not…I’ve just been thinking it over.” Tifa nodded at the shut door. “Speaking of, he didn’t take it so well either. Any idea why?”

“No,” Cloud said after a moment. “He’s been fine when I’ve seen him. When I left last night, he and Reno were even arguing over who’d gotten it worst from Heidegger.”

He went back to his seat. Genesis didn’t know much about Midgar’s forces aside from the ones tasked to watch over him, but of those, he’d had a wealth of detail. Not all of them had come with him—Cloud idly wondered if Midgar had expected it to be a suicide mission, considering Genesis had been the most volatile before they’d changed him—and the remainder would be assigned. Maybe not to Sephiroth and Angeal Hewley, if they were relatively secure.

“So no one’s spending the night with him?” Tifa said dryly. When Cloud looked at her, she sighed and looked exasperated with him. “Reno’s been sleeping with me and Cissnei, since Rude’s with Rufus. And anyway, did you expect him to stay?”

“Rhapsodos wants his time alone,” Cloud said. He looked back at the map. “I’m _not_ getting him confused with an earlier life, and sometimes they just don’t want more than that, Tifa.”

“I didn’t say that.” Tifa smoothed her hands over the maps. “I didn’t look at you like that, either. Not everyone’s trying to make you feel guilty, damn it.”

Cloud bit down on his reply. They studied the maps in silence. Eventually Tifa raised her arm. She didn’t look at Cloud as she drew a line of advance past Midgar to encircle the small backwater town where they thought Sephiroth was. Cloud looked it over, then pointed out the way they’d be outflanked if Midgar pulled back its troops from the east.

“Did Vincent leave?” Cloud said.

Tifa looked sharply at him. “No, he’s just been…thinking,” she said slowly. “Aeris and I sat him down. We’re keeping an eye on him, he’s not going to dig himself a hole in the basement or anything.”

“I think because he was such a good friend,” Cloud started. He redrew their approach, then erased it before Tifa could show him the three different ways it could turn into a massacre. Then he sighed and tapped his finger on the village where Hewley probably was. “He just…got certain things, that you didn’t get till…you know, some of the lives where I fucked up. And I do get him confused, all right? He’s never gotten it the same way, not now that he’s reincarnating, and I never wanted him before he died but—I do now, sometimes. But I miss my friend.”

“I fucked up a few of them too,” Tifa said. She put her hand on his shoulder, then his arm. Then she looked back at the map. “This is jumping ahead. Rhapsodos is doing all right but from what he said, Sephiroth and Hewley are at least twice as bad as he was. I think we’ve got to figure out the system behind why they need so much magic—where is it all going? If we can regulate it with sex magic, why hasn’t Midgar figured out something similar? Or maybe they have, and it’s just that Rhapsodos had enough self left to resist when it wasn’t someone he wanted.”

Cloud made a face. “Please tell me you haven’t mentioned that to Aeris yet. She’ll kill them all.”

“As if she hasn’t figured it out already. Why do you think she’s so militant about freeing those two?” Tifa scoffed. Then she pressed her hands over her face. “Damn it.”

“I don’t think Midgar’s tried sex magic,” Cloud said. “I think it’s a lot of torture, and maybe forcefeeding on mages till they die. Sex magic takes too long, wouldn’t be efficient by their standards. But why would Hojo make them into power sinks in the first place?”

“That’s what I’ve thinking over,” Tifa mumbled through her hands. She slouched down till her arms were sprawled over the table, with her head resting against one of them. “That and Rhapsodos. Jenova. She’s not here, but what if…what if there was supposed to be something _like_ her? Something to balance out all the magic coming up everywhere. And when she came, she…got rid of it, replaced it, and she was too much but once she was gone, nothing ever took her place?”

“They’re not her,” Cloud said after a long moment. “Everything that was her in them, it’s gone. Rhapsodos told me—they wouldn’t even know. It’d just be like a…”

“…a hole. But some of us remember what used to be there.” Tifa stared at the far wall. “Maybe they tried to build it from memory.”

Cloud looked at her. “You and I know the way memory can fool you.”

“Yeah.” She straightened up. “Damn it. We’ve just got to go to Midgar, then.”

* * *

They weren’t going to Midgar right that second. Word was the treaty talks were almost concluded, and they’d need that to keep their northern base. And even if they had that, Aeris still wasn’t going to be happy about any trip to Midgar short of a full-on invasion. It was a little ironic, actually, how she’d become more and more uncomfortable with the small band of adventurers method of saving the day over her lives. Tifa had a theory that as the Lifestream had turned into mindless magic, and as Aeris had lost the ability to converse with it, the other woman had tried to replace it with grassroots organizing.

It wasn’t a bad theory, but Cloud thought it was downplaying a few things. Aeris also hadn’t been remembering as often, and he occasionally wondered if it was because she took the losses too much to heart. She wasn’t _weak_ by any means, but she wasn’t as used to being the one who lived.

Anyway, Tifa said she’d handle talking to Aeris about the whole plan and just asked Cloud to worry about Rufus. He wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that, and Tseng looked a little puzzled as well.

“It’s nothing we haven’t already been discussing between ourselves,” he said, lying beside Cloud on the bed. He was naked, with dried come streaking his thighs and silk cord still tied around his wrists. When Cloud nudged his shoulder, he ignored the bathroom door Cloud had left open and just nuzzled Cloud’s arm, blatantly scenting the freshly-washed skin. “Clearly, we’ve learned all we can from a distance. I think Rufus just wasn’t sure who to raise it with.”

“Because he wants to go?” Cloud said. He tugged on his bootlaces, then began knotting the ends. “He’s not going. Not till Tifa and I can figure out what the deal with Hojo is. Half the time our first meeting with him ends in somebody dying because he turns out to not be human anymore.”

Tseng was silent. He stopped nuzzling Cloud and sat up.

“I know what you said about Heidegger being the main one now, but trust me, we’ve got to get both of them,” Cloud added after a moment. He straightened up and looked over at the other man.

“I don’t like it, but I trust that you know more here,” Tseng said. His brows lifted just a bit at Cloud, and then he leaned in and pressed his lips to Cloud’s. The kiss lasted only a moment; afterward, he rested his head on Cloud’s shoulder. “Should I get you for breakfast?”

Cloud blinked. Then he decided it was stupid to even ask whether Tseng had guessed where he was going. “…I wasn’t going to be that long.”

“In my experience, conversations with Genesis Rhapsodos rarely last the length you wish them,” Tseng said dryly. He sat back and began to untie the cord on his left wrist, still looking at Cloud. He moved tensely, but not as much as Cloud had been expecting. “If…I may have a visitor of my own, if you don’t mind. I wanted to speak to Valentine.”

“Why?” Cloud said, startled.

Tseng’s mouth twitched slightly. Then he sighed and looked down, pulling the cord off his right wrist. “Reno is insufferable when he’s right.”

“I wasn’t objecting,” Cloud said. He rubbed at the side of his face. “I mean, you don’t need to ask me for permission, or tell me why.”

“But I wished you to know,” Tseng said deliberately. He held the silk cords in his hands, then folded them up and got to his feet. He took a step towards the bathroom, then stopped. “I’d like to speak to Rhapsodos soon, too.”

He didn’t actually sound like he did, his voice tight and clipped, but Cloud didn’t prod. After another moment, Tseng disappeared into the bathroom. The door shut and then the sound of running water filtered into the room.

Cloud left more quickly than he needed to, especially when the hallway outside was empty. Most of the hallways were empty; Aeris would entertain at all hours but one day a month she shut up everything and reduced the household to a skeleton staff. The courtesans could stay or go as they pleased, and nearly all of them normally chose to go. On the way to the library Cloud only met one of them, a fair-haired, caramel-skinned woman who’d joined just before Rufus had shown up and who Cloud had barely been introduced to. She nodded at him but seemed intent on an errand, so neither of them spoke.

The library was empty as well, those someone had left the lamps lighted. He got the book he was looking for, turned off the lamps, and then went and knocked on his bedroom door.

Rhapsodos gave him a strange look upon letting him inside. “This _is_ your room.”

“In that I use it the most, yeah,” Cloud said. He looked around. Two of the wardrobes were open—not the one holding Rufus’ and Tseng’s things—and some of the sliding shelves within had been pulled out to their fullest extent.

“I was curious.” Rhapsodos closed the door and came to stand besides Cloud. He didn’t sound or look ashamed. “It’s an impressive selection.”

Cloud shrugged. He put the book down on a nearby table, then found the water pitcher and poured himself a glass of water. When he turned around, Rhapsodos was leafing through the book. He walked around the other man and got a chair, angling it for better light, and then sat down.

“I have a difficult relationship with poetry,” Rhapsodos said, lingering over one page. He was wearing a kimono, red silk with a watered pattern at the edges, and sleeves that fitted closely down to the elbow, where they flared out asymmetrically. “I enjoy it very much, particularly the older epics, but it’s very like eating too many sweet things. In the end it’s unsatisfying and lacks substance.”

“You know you’re reincarnated too, right?” Cloud said. He reached out and pulled the book out from under Rhapsodos’ hand while the other man was nodding. “A different version of you really liked this one poem. Drove everyone crazy quoting from it, including me. It’s been lost over the years and I didn’t…I didn’t _do_ it, but I didn’t try and save it either. And I’ve forgotten how it goes, so don’t ask me.”

“That’s a relief,” Rhapsodos said after a moment. “I was beginning to think you were inhumanly resistant to abusing your position. What are we going to speak about? Sephiroth? Troop distribution? The damned alchemists?”

Cloud shut the book and put it on his lap. He looked at his hands spreading over the cover, then slouched down in the chair. He didn’t look at Rhapsodos, even when the other man moved closer.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “I want to fuck you. No, shut up and listen. I didn’t like you in your other lives. I did think you were attractive, but I never liked you, and it wasn’t just that you usually were insane, even when you were kind of an ally. And we can talk about why I didn’t like those versions of you, but those were _those_ versions. I can’t help seeing reminders, and at first I did get confused sometimes, but I know how to keep it all straight now. So it’s not about that. It’s about I want to fuck you _now_ and this is new and not a hell of a lot is truly new to me, these days.”

Rhapsodos hadn’t walked away. But his breathing had quieted to the point that Cloud had to strain to hear it, and his magic was hissing at the wards, running up against them again and again. It wasn’t as if they were trying to break the wards; it was as if they were trying to draw blood.

“I was trying not to want people before this started,” Cloud went on. “It never works for long, but…I don’t know, just trying to take a break can be helpful in other ways. But maybe I left it too long. I have Rufus and Tseng, and now on top of that I want you. Tied down, metal around your cock, whatever I feel like feeding into your hungry little ass. But I can _not_ do that. We can keep doing this the way we are. I’m good enough that you’d never notice, except for this conversation.”

“And where does the poetry fit in?” Rhapsodos said. He parsed each word with painstaking care.

Cloud slid one hand under the cover and lifted it, then looked down at the book. He flipped through a few pages, then went backwards as a large engraving caught his eye. A tall, muscular man dressed in armor killing a monster rising out of the sea. One of those stupid heroic versions of his fights with the WEAPONs. “Well, in case you needed proof that I actually qualify under guild standards.”

Rhapsodos laughed, sharp and incredulous. Then he took a sharp step back. Cloud looked up at him and he stared back, his shoulders pulled tightly back, his hands curling into firsts. He took another step back, then lunged forward and seized Cloud by the shoulders. “I am _not here_ for your _services_ , Strife.”

His fingers felt like bony talons, digging in through a thick woolen shirt, but Cloud didn’t flinch. “You’re still here.”

“I—” Rhapsodos jerked his hands away, but otherwise stayed where he was. The fire in his eyes banked slightly, still fierce but turned inward. “They twisted me,” he said more softly. “They made me their dog, theirs to drive at whatever they wished.”

“Yeah.” Cloud kept his hands on the book. “It took me a lot of lives to see the difference.”

Rhapsodos raised his hand as if he meant to slap Cloud. Then he lowered it. He suddenly snorted, a dark little glint of humor in his eyes. “You’ve never died.”

“It’s a way to mark time,” Cloud said. He waited till Rhapsodos shifted impatiently. “You’re still here.”

“And I make this my life,” Rhapsodos said, almost too softly to be heard. “Mine, not theirs.”

He remained where he was, leaning over Cloud. His shoulder jumped as Cloud lifted his hand, even though Cloud didn’t touch that. Instead he wrapped his fingers around Rhapsodos’ throat, just tight enough to have a grip. He pulled once and Rhapsodos went to his knees.

Cloud held the man’s neck for a moment, then pushed back the chair and stood up. He let his hand drag through Rhapsodos’ hair as he went around the other man. The book, he left on his vacated seat.

The first open wardrobe had a tall narrow compartment on the left, with a row of pegs from which chains and straps of various lengths were dangling. The right side held trays: shining clamps and rings, some meant specifically for nipples, others for the cock or balls, and yet others that could be placed anywhere on the body. At the very bottom was a drawer of weights. Some of them had been picked out and then put back not quite where they’d lain before.

The second wardrobe had a large space at the top, with rows of drawers beneath. The top space was half-filled with folded kimonos. Two of the drawers had been pulled out to show the disarrayed plugs and cock bindings within.

Cloud picked out one item at a time and took it back over to Rhapsodos, then returned to the wardrobes for the next. Rhapsodos was positioned so he could easily see what Cloud was choosing if he turned his head, but he didn’t move except to occasionally inhale sharply.

The first thing to go on was the gag. Just a strip of red silk, wound several times around Rhapsodos’ head and then tied just tightly enough to keep it in place. Once he’d knotted it, Cloud stood behind Rhapsodos and put his hands on the man’s shoulders. He let his fingers glide over them, dipping to the chest, then pulled them back and took the kimono with it. Rhapsodos bent his arms as he felt the silk sliding down, turning them out of the sleeves so the robe hung just from the sash around his waist. Then Cloud untied that, and gently looped it around Rhapsodos’ right arm to draw it back.

He pulled back Rhapsodos’ other arm with his hand, then wound the sash around Rhapsodos’ limbs so there were still several inches between the arms. Rhapsodos had to continue pulling on the sash to maintain the tension and keep it from falling; after an initial sag, he realized that and drew his arms apart as far as the sash allowed. A fine shiver went through his back and Cloud watched how the sash rippled with it.

Next was a cock sheath. Red leather, with black lace inserts running its length. Cloud crouched down behind Rhapsodos and reached around the man, holding the soft, barely flushed cock in his hand for a second. Then he fitted the sheath around it. A black silk cord laced up the underside and he tugged at each row, waiting for Rhapsodos to breath before he moved onto the next. He made it tight enough to bring a deep blush to the head of Rhapsodos’ cock, which just peeped past the red leather. Then he pulled snug the cords that ran around the top and the bottom of the sheath, wrapping the excess around Rhapsodos’ cock before tying them off.

Rhapsodos made a stifled noise as Cloud moved away that time, then looked angrily away when Cloud turned to him. “You can say whatever you want,” Cloud said.

He didn’t get an answer. He didn’t wait for one, instead looking through the nipple clamps. He finally settled on a pretty gold pair, shaped like legless, winged wyrms, pressing their toothed mouths shut around Rhapsodos’ nipples. Then he squatted in front of the other man and played with them, pushing their coiled tails back and forth, brushing his fingertips over the darkening, stiffened tips of flesh. Rhapsodos hissed, then worked his jaw roughly. A round of the silk gag fell out of his mouth, then another. Then he spat out the last one so the spit-soaked strips dropped onto Cloud’s knee.

“Hurry up,” he snarled. He winced when Cloud took both clamps and pulled sharply on them, his back arching up into it, trying to reduce the strain. 

“Hurry up with what?” Cloud asked.

Rhapsodos didn’t say. Cloud picked up some weights next. Small pigeon’s-blood rubies, polished into pebbles and then wrapped in gold wire. He held them up before Rhapsodos’ face so the man had to stare at them; the hungry void pulsed in Rhapsodos’ eyes, turning them black and blank, and then ebbed back. Cloud moved the pebbles closer and Rhapsodos closed his eyes.

The pebbles dragged over his eyelids, down either side of his nose and then rested against his lower lip. His mouth moved. Then it twisted, moaning, as Cloud hooked the weights onto the clamps. They looked like eggs dangling below the wyrms.

“Hurry up and fill me,” Rhapsodos suddenly said. He opened his eyes and they were hungry again, but with lust. His mouth swayed close to Cloud’s jaw. “Fuck me, like you want.”

“Later,” Cloud said. He brushed his thumb over Rhapsodos’ lips as the other man looked up sharply, then stepped away.

Leather cuffs. Black ones, chained in pairs. The smaller bands went around Rhapsodos’ wrists, replacing the sash, and the larger around his thighs, holding his hands out of reach of his cock and balls. Then Cloud had Rhapsodos get to his feet and go to the bed and lie down on his back, his head on the pillows. He buckled a collar around the man’s long white throat and leashed it close to the headboard; both were black leather, harsh-looking against the delicate skin.

Last, a long, slim, oiled plug. He stopped to get his book and glass of water as well, and then climbed onto the bed to Rhapsodos’ curses. “Bend your knees,” Cloud said over them.

Rhapsodos fell silent, his head rising. The leash tugged him short and Cloud saw the way his pupils grew hazy and blown before he dropped his head, rolling it restlessly against the pillow. He pulled up his legs by pulling on his wrist cuffs, then slid them apart.

Cloud put the tip of the plug against Rhapsodos’ hole. He moved it back when Rhapsodos tried to push down on it, tracing a figure out around the puckering rim and up onto the perineum, just over where, if he pressed down more, it’d palpate the prostate; Rhapsodos tried to push down there too and Cloud withdrew the plug entirely. He waited a moment, then put it back and began to slowly work it into the other man.

A groan escaped Rhapsodos, and then another. His hands clenched against his thighs. He rolled his hips, wanting more of the plug, faster, and it was slender enough for that but Cloud held to the agonizingly slow pace. By the time it was fully seated in Rhapsodos, the moans were coming freely.

Rhapsodos twisted against the sheets, then hauled himself nearly onto one side. He stared blankly as Cloud settled in by him, book in one hand, glass in the other. “What are you doing?” he said.

Cloud propped the book up on his knees, picked a poem that wasn’t about something he or Tifa had done, and began to read. He kept his voice the same volume, even when Rhapsodos’ threats completely drowned it out, and held the glass out of the way so Rhapsodos’ attempts to hit him wouldn’t spill it.

Eventually the other man grew tired. His struggles grew more feeble, until finally he let his legs slump against the bed. His face sank against Cloud’s hip.

“I don’t want poetry,” Rhapsodos said.

Cloud paused. “Would you like some water?”

Rhapsodos glared up at him, but even that was faded, barely a spark of real anger. After a moment, he closed his eyes. He let Cloud get through the rest of the stanza, then nudged at Cloud’s hip. “Please,” he said, as if he were saying the word for the first time. “Please.”

“Water?” Cloud said.

“You—” Rhapsodos started, a flicker of heat in his voice. Then he shuddered. He looked up. “Yes, please.”

Cloud shifted the book to one knee and put his arm down. He worked it under Rhapsodos’ head, giving it some support, and curled it around to hold the glass to Rhapsodos’ lips. After the first swallow he pulled it away, even though Rhapsodos clearly wanted more. He read another couple of stanzas, then asked again. This time Rhapsodos said yes immediately.

By the time the glass was half-empty, Rhapsodos had degenerated to urgent mewls, and the poem was getting annoying, even for Cloud. He let Rhapsodos suck down the rest of the water, then wiped at what had spilled down the man’s chin with the side of his hand. Then he got up. He put the empty glass and the poetry away, and found the history book he’d been reading on and off for the past month. Sometimes, if it was really inaccurate, it made for a good drinking game with Tifa.

When he went back to the bed, he pulled Rhapsodos up to lie against him, head on Cloud’s ribs, and tucked his arm around Rhapsodos’ back so he could reach under one buttock and tease at the man’s balls, feeling how they grew heavier and more tense with denied need. Sometimes he let his forearm push up enough to knock into the plug as well. Rhapsodos panted and whimpered into his side. Once he tried to twist over and mouth at Cloud’s chest, but a sharp pull on his balls recalled him.

The history book was sort of horrifying in how inaccurate it was, and distracted Cloud a bit more than he’d intended. He finally looked up from it to find Rhapsodos wiggling against him, face averted. “Oh, right,” he said. “Bathroom.”

Rhapsodos looked up and—he was still proud, even now, but it was a fragile thing. Cloud didn’t prod it directly but he pulled Rhapsodos off the bed and half-carried him into the bathroom, and he stood the man in front of the toilet and watched the fractures spread. They widened when Cloud pressed up behind Rhapsodos. He reached around and took Rhapsodos’ cock in his hand, holding the laces out of the way, and Rhapsodos crumpled against Cloud, a high, ragged, thin sound coming from him.

His hips bucked against Cloud a few times, then pressed back tightly. The muscles in his abdomen and thighs flexed and shivered with the strain. “I—I—I—” he said, and then his body found the way to relax, a violent shudder, and a stream of urine hit the toilet. “Oh, Gaia. Oh.”

Cloud kissed the side of his neck, then the top of his shoulder. He held Rhapsodos up by the hip and the cock till the man had emptied himself, then slowly lowered Rhapsodos onto his knees on the floor. He washed his hands and rubbed a damp washcloth over the head of Rhapsodos’ cock—Rhapsodos cried out, trying to twist away, over-sensitized, and Cloud yanked on the dangling leash—and then shoved Rhapsodos face-down on the tile. Pulled out the plug and fucked him till he was limp, pushed the plug back in and took him back to bed.

“I want to come,” Rhapsodos managed, his damp face turned into Cloud’s hip. “Please.”

“Reno’s supposed to be up in an hour,” Cloud said, re-opening his book. “I’ll let him suck you off. Not just milk you, really let you come.”

Rhapsodos moaned. “Are we—are we pushing that forward?”

Cloud shrugged, stroking the soft skin of Rhapsodo’s balls. “We could, I guess. Or I can let him suck you off, and then tie you up again. Another four hours. Milk you halfway through.”

“You’re going to run out,” Rhapsodos gasped. He pushed weakly at Cloud’s book with his chin.

“So I’ll get another one,” Cloud said. “Or I’ll stop reading, and just watch Reno lick out your hole. And when he’s tired, I’ll show you how some of those other plugs work. The ones that vibrate. You want that?”

“Goddess.” Rhapsodos buried his face in Cloud’s side. “Gaia, yes, I want that.”

“All right, then,” Cloud said, and turned another page.

* * *

Right after he and Reno were done with Rhapsodos, Cloud went down to get something to eat and ran into Aeris in the kitchen. For some reason, instead of sleeping, Tifa had told her about the plan to go to Midgar and she was—taking it better than Cloud would have thought, but still upset. It took a while to figure out why, as well. Though honestly, the last thing Cloud would have thought about right then was Zack.

Then he felt…strange about that. Zack his friend was still a huge part of his life, but Zack the person in _this_ life, Zack Fair the cadet in Midgar that he’d never met…just because he could keep it separate didn’t mean it still didn’t _hit_ him sometimes, right where it’d steal his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Aeris said, watching him. “Of course I’m not the only one who it’d be hard on.”

“He’s all right,” Cloud said after a moment. “You know that, right? Just because Tifa and I have been keeping him out of it, doesn’t mean we haven’t been looking out for him.”

“And I know sometimes whose choice it is isn’t that easy to figure out. But…I just feel like there’s no way to avoid him now.” Aeris suddenly threw forward and hugged him fiercely. “I miss him but I don’t _want_ him to get hurt either, and I don’t even remember him dying. And I know, I know, I say all the time you should let people risk what they want to risk, but I know he’s not as powerful as you and Tifa and I know he’s going to want to do as much anyway.”

Cloud hugged her back. He let her cry a little on his shoulder, then pull herself together.

“Oh, and I said the wrong things to Tifa, too, and now that I’m a bit calmer I can see she was just trying to get me to think about it and not do the first thing that came to mind,” Aeris said, wiping at her eyes. “Sometimes I’m just not a good person.”

“You’re fine,” Cloud said. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then left her putting together an apology selection of sweets.

When he returned to his bedroom, Reno was sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg hanging down, facing the door. He was not the body between Rhapsodos’ knees, making Rhapsodos arch and loll against the pillows.

“Hey,” Reno said. He had on an unbelted dark grey kimono over his unbuttoned dress shirt. “The boss said he wanted a word with Gen. I figured, loyalty oath’s worded that I will always act in his best interests, not that I’ll do everything to the letter.”

“I figured, from the way you talk,” Cloud said. He shut the door, watching Tseng uncoil and drape himself across the mattress, and then went over to the bed. “I thought you meant _later_.”

Tseng shrugged. He was naked, his hair loose over his shoulders, and the ribbon that usually tied that back was looped around his neck. “I finished speaking with Valentine and didn’t see a reason to wait.”

Cloud bent over and took Tseng’s head between his hands, and kissed him. Off to the side Reno was nearly slack with relief. Tseng himself was still with surprise for a moment, but then he returned the kiss with fervor. He made a low, pleased sound when Cloud took him by the back of the neck and pushed his face back against Rhapsodos’ ass. Rhapsodos had collected himself enough to be looking curiously at the little play, but the moment Tseng’s mouth touched him, he was writhing again, head thrown back against the pillows.

“You didn’t want to be around for it?” Reno said. “Make sure it’s done right?”

“It’s Tseng’s peace of mind,” Cloud said. He still had his hand on Tseng’s neck and he felt the man start, then sink back into the grip. “And I’m here now.”

“Yeah.” Reno tilted his head. Then he tilted his body, slinking it across the sheets while first the kimono and then his shirt snaked off his shoulders. “Yeah, you are.”

* * *

“They sent Sephiroth after me,” Tseng said in the morning, when he and Cloud were standing in the bathroom. “Rhapsodos after Reno and Cissnei. Rhapsodos and Sephiroth for Rufus. Hewley, I think he was for Lazard but you got there first.”

“Even in the same bed, I can’t say we’re friends,” Rhapsodos said, while waiting with Cloud for Tifa to show up in the map room. “But I never wished, and still don’t wish, on them what—happened. It goes through you, all of it. And for a moment it also sits in you, the death.”

“I am human enough to want revenge,” Tseng said that night, curled up by Cloud and looking at the exhausted body on Cloud’s other side. “But Reno said something about the way Rhapsodos looked at him, when he woke up and there was sanity in his eyes, and…I do think there is little I can do that Rhapsodos has not already felt.”

“I want you,” Genesis said quietly against Cloud’s shoulder, pressing up half-dressed to Cloud’s back. “My life is in ruins, and the blocks that remain are filled with flaws, so I must find new ones. Very well—I want you, and I want you to want me, and I want the way you push and force yourself into the cracks. I want that instead of what they wanted to fill me with, and for that I will submit.”


	3. Chapter 3

The treaty signed, Rufus came back to the house but Cloud was out in the field that day. Midgar had gotten wind of the northern alliance and had sent a small force against one of the weaker cities in the foothills. It wasn’t much and someone else could have gone and led the local forces, but it was getting close to time for Cloud to shed again. Or at least, it should have been, but he hadn’t gotten any of the warning pains and Aeris’ castings said he still looked like he should be mid-cycle. It was possible that Genesis’ addition was finally enough to use up Cloud’s excess magic. But they’d made mistakes before, and the Midgar trip was looming. So Cloud went and burned off some more power, just in case.

When he got back, it was several hours later than expected and he was deeply irritated. Their allies had wanted to celebrate after a quick, decisive victory and, not wanting to make Rufus follow up to fix something, he’d swallowed down his irritation and had tactfully, slowly extracted himself.

Tifa met him at the door and they debriefed in her room while he ate and washed up roughly. She didn’t keep him any longer than that; they both knew that Genesis would have had to lock himself into a chastity cage a good hour and a half ago.

Cloud hurried to his room, then felt his hand slip on the knob as he tried to shut it behind him.

“Victory, I take it?” Rufus said lazily. He had on the white corset with the navy insets, with black silk cord knotted over it, pinning his arms behind his back. A wide, white silk collar with a silver ring where a cameo would rest, was around his throat, and delicate black lace ribbons crisscrossed up from white heels over his ankles and calves, ending in bows just over each knee.

His legs were already spread, but as Cloud looked on, Rufus pulled them wider, his heels digging deep into the mattress. Between them lay Genesis, his mouth half-slipped from Rufus’ cock. Genesis wore a tailored red leather blindfold, pulled so tightly Cloud could see the skin pinking around the edges, and two long red leather gloves, which started at mitts that sealed his fingers and thumbs together and ran to wide buckled straps at mid-bicep. Black straps wove in between his arms, pulling them closely together, and crossed his wrists just above the swell of his buttocks.

Red leather boots encased Genesis’ legs to mid-thigh, with tightening buckles at the top and just under the knee. Genesis twisted over the bed, trying to raise his head and recapture the rest of Rufus’ cock, and something metallic glinted underneath him. Then he turned fully on his side and Cloud saw the golden sheath covering his cock, with the harness of red leather straps extending from the base to bind his balls.

Cloud went over to the bed. He pushed Genesis out of the way—Rufus’ cock slid out of Genesis’ mouth and along his cheek; Genesis bent his head to nuzzle it—and pulled Rufus away from the headboard. Rufus sprawled against Cloud, smugness forgotten as he shamelessly moaned and pushed his hips up against Cloud. Something small and round clicked against the hand Cloud put between Rufus’ legs: pleasure beads. He tugged at them, nipping at the open, groaning mouth Rufus turned up towards him, then moved his hand forward and traced out a metal ring closed tightly around the base of Rufus’ cock.

Genesis was lying on his stomach, struggling to get his knees underneath so he could move. Cloud grabbed the nearest boot and pulled so Genesis was in line with Rufus, then pushed Rufus forward so he was straddling Genesis’ waist, his head down beside Genesis’ on the bed. He slapped Rufus’ buttock when it sank and Rufus hissed and jerked his hips back up.

When Cloud turned, Tseng was there with a crop laying over his outstretched hands. He had his Turk suit on, but with no tie and an unbuttoned collar so Cloud could see the leather collar underneath, with the thin silver chain leading down the center of his chest. Cloud reached into Tseng’s shirt and flicked the chain, then ran his hand along it, over Tseng’s shirt. He paused to unbuckle and pull out Tseng’s belt, then felt over the front of Tseng’s trousers till the man was hissing, tracing out the lines of the harness. A strap around the waist, another one running down his groin, his cock bound to it. Two more around the tops of his thighs, and something pulling his balls back between his legs.

Cloud turned back to the bed. Rufus was talking to Genesis in a ragged but distinctly savoring voice, telling him how Cloud was going to fuck them on top of him, going to paint his back with come. He broke into a gasp at the first blow of the crop across his buttocks, but kept talking. Describing what Cloud’s cock felt like in him, hissing at the lashes, and under him Genesis was shivering and whining.

Five brilliant welts decorated Rufus’ ass when Cloud stopped, dragged Tseng up onto the bed by the hair. Tseng bit the first welt, then sucked noisily across the second, his hands moving forward to roughly massage Genesis’ buttocks at the same time. Rufus faltered, shuddered. Said something about Tseng’s cock and Genesis’ mouth and Genesis’ ass and Cloud’s cock.

When Cloud pulled Tseng off, he pressed against Cloud’s front for a moment, then slipped off the bed and onto his knees. He undressed himself while Rufus received another five blows, which finally reduced him to wordless cries, and then undressed Cloud from the waist down. Then he climbed back on the bed, crawling by the other two men. He paused as Cloud caressed his thigh, his eyes closing. Cloud unstrapped Tseng’s cock, letting his fingers linger where the straps had pressed.

Then Cloud reached out and pulled on the string of beads hanging between Rufus’ welt-striped buttocks. Rufus jerked backwards, then sobbed as Cloud pushed him forward, deliberately putting a hand over one of the welts. The beads popped out, one by one. Cloud leaned forward and dropped them on Genesis’ back, and then pinned Rufus by the hips and drove his cock into the man.

Rufus didn’t last long enough to bring Cloud off. His legs failed him and he could only ride Cloud’s movements, whimpering; Cloud could’ve made the effort to hold him up but didn’t want to. Instead he reached around Rufus and unlocked the ring on the man’s cock. It wasn’t fully off before Rufus was coming, his semen dripping over the string of beads.

Genesis let out a muffled moan, his mouth full of Tseng’s cock, Tseng’s fingers twined in his hair and keeping him from sucking Tseng off too quickly. He squirmed against the bed as Cloud maneuvered Rufus off of him, laying the other man on his side with his head by Genesis’ hip. Cloud slid two fingers in between his buttocks. One finger touched a hard rim, the other slipped through warmed, empty air to graze at spasming flesh. They’d put a hollow spacer ring in him, just wide enough to hold the rim of his hole open.

Cloud pressed the head of his cock up against it. The ring wasn’t large enough to let his cock pass through, but he didn’t want that anyway. He braced his knees, then leaned forward and held his hand out to Tseng, who obligingly licked his palm. The spit lasted for one good pump over his cock and then Tseng had to lick it again. Rufus, his breath back, took great pleasure in describing the delay to Genesis.

Spit wasn’t really good enough, not when Cloud had other options. He got off the bed long enough to get oil over his hand, then got back in the same position, his cock head just nudging between Genesis’ buttocks. A few firm strokes and he was spilling over, his come dripping past the spacer ring into Genesis’ ass. Genesis writhed and choked. Cloud rested behind him for a moment, watching Tseng let Genesis slowly drag his mouth off Tseng’s cock. He ran his oiled hand up and down Genesis’ thigh a few times, then pushed one finger through the spacer ring. Genesis jerked sharply and rolled onto his side.

Rufus twisted and wriggled around till he could get his mouth around Genesis’ cock. He sucked greedily at it, lips stretching over the golden metal. Genesis let out a strangled cry, and then another, just before Tseng shoved his cock back in Genesis’ mouth.

Cloud moved his finger at a leisurely pace inside Genesis, waiting for the man’s limbs to slacken. It didn’t take that long, maybe a few breaths. He brought up his other hand and curled it into a fist against Genesis’ perineum, letting the man’s weight drag him down onto Cloud’s knuckles. Genesis was limp between the three of them, his body too exhausted to even ride their mismatching rhythms.

Maybe it was the victory that made Cloud feel generous. He reached around and unlocked the cock cage, slipping it off before pushing Rufus’ mouth back down. Even without the cage’s restraint, Genesis took a little while to get hard—agonizingly long, judging from the sounds he made—and then he jerked once, twice, and slumped down. He didn’t even twitch when Cloud closed the cage back around his softening cock.

Cloud fucked Tseng over him, and then Rufus again, with Tseng sucking Rufus off. By the time they were done, Genesis’ back was as striped with come as Rufus’ ass was with purpling welts. Tseng was little better, the insides of his thighs tender with bite marks, his hair straggling in loose wet twists over his back. The three of them laid where they fell, oblivious to awkwardly-bent limbs, as Cloud pulled himself up against the footboard. He caught his breath, moved to get some towels, and then swung his leg back on the bed and just looked at them for a while.

* * *

“Much as it pains me to say, I think you should speak with my brother.” Rufus pushed back into Cloud’s hands, purring as they rubbed a Cure potion into his bruised buttocks. He was leaning over the sink, his forearms resting on either side of it. “He was born in the slums, and I don’t doubt he still knows his way around them.”

Tseng, propped up in the doorway and half-heartedly buttoning up his shirt, raised his brows but didn’t say anything. “And what, Reno’s some country kid?” Cloud said.

“Not with that excuse for grammar, but Deusericus has more friends in low places,” Genesis fiddled with a tiny white flame dancing between his fingertips. He looked at with a strangely fragile kind of awe, stroking the flame like it was a long-lost lover. When he saw they’d caught him at it, he held their gazes unwaveringly but a light flush crept up his cheeks. “He certainly managed to more than hold his own against the Turks, and that takes resources.”

The corner of Tseng’s mouth twitched. He inclined his head towards Genesis, who snorted and flapped a dismissive hand.

“What’s your arrangement with him?” Genesis asked carelessly. He sprawled on the floor, lounging against the wall. He was only wearing a pair of silk pajama pants, the material gauzy and clinging to his legs. The flame twirled over his fingers, then vanished as he dropped his hands. They rested on his thighs for a moment, then slid back and dipped behind the waistband of his pants, so the shadows of his fingers showed under the silk. “I only ask so that I can be prepared to reach an accommodation.”

Cloud turned around. In the mirror, Rufus had his head down so only the top of his head was reflected, but his hands were flexing against the marble counter. “More like Aeris’ arrangement. She was born in Midgar, and I think they ran in the same social circles for a while.”

Rufus raised his head. His expression was mildly curious. “I happen to know that Miss Gainsborough is not to my dear brother’s tastes.”

“Never said that. Just that they knew each other,” Cloud said. He let his fingers slide into the cleft of Rufus’ ass, just above the man’s hole, and then withdrew them when Rufus inhaled sharply. Then he pulled Rufus back by the hips, giving the man’s dress shirt a few tugs so the tails drifted over the still-visible welts. “I told you, I’ve never met this him. And I guess I’ll ask, but last I heard, he was still getting over the mage fever. Aeris is pretty protective of her informants. Not sure she’ll be all right with having him come.”

“I’d prefer to leave Reno behind,” Tseng suddenly said. He moved forward, dipping briefly to retrieve the trousers puddled around Rufus’ ankles, and then began smoothing and tucking and buttoning the pieces of Rufus’ suit around the other man. “You won’t be spending that much time in the city. It’s more important to secure an entry into the lab where they’re keeping Hojo, and Lazard never made inroads there.”

Rufus frowned. “Did you have a suggestion?”

“Valentine,” Tseng said calmly. He paused with his hands gripping either side of Rufus’ still-unbuttoned collar.

“I see,” Rufus said after a moment. He let Tseng do up his collar. Then he leaned back. He barely moved but Tseng immediately released him and stood away. “It’s not that large a house, Cloud, and he’s very obvious for someone so close-mouthed.”

“And he’s clearly known you considerably longer,” Genesis drawled. He unfolded himself from the floor and rose, one hand idly scratching across the fading chafe-marks where straps had rubbed into his side. “Although for all that, he seems to not have the faintest clue how to use—”

The light slap of flesh against flesh broke over his voice. Genesis stilled, his fingers splayed towards the wrinkle crossing Rufus’ jacket. His eyes moved languidly from Cloud to the fingers wrapped around his wrist, then up the arm to Rufus’ intent stare. Then he smiled wolfishly. He pulled his arm back.

Rufus released Genesis’ wrist. Then, before Genesis fully stepped away, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over Genesis’ cheek. It looked like a society kiss, but his mouth ran a fraction too long against Genesis’ skin, and the snap of his eyes over Genesis’ shoulder was too electric for a mere display.

“Do I want to know what you said to each other?” Cloud said.

“If you did, you’d ask that instead,” Rufus said dryly. He pushed himself back against the edge of the sink, deliberately arching into the shiver of pain that went down his body; the Cure potion had to have almost healed the bruises by now, but he was milking whatever remained. “I’m satisfied with it.”

“I made sufficient amends for my wrongs,” Genesis said. Just as dry, just as unconcerned. He had his back to Cloud, but Cloud could see his eyes in the mirror over Rufus’ shoulder and they were determined, unflinching, but not certain of themselves or of Rufus.

Cloud put his hands on Genesis’ hips. The pajamas made his hands slip as he pulled the other man back against him, his fingers gliding forward and down so for a moment he grazed Genesis’ cock, soft and swinging freely under the silk. Then he resettled his hands on Genesis’ waist. Genesis put his hands back and closed them over Cloud’s wrists, but didn’t pull or clench.

“If you’re fine,” Cloud said to Rufus. He felt Genesis tense against him as Rufus pushed himself off the sink and came forward, pressed up to Genesis and craned over Genesis’ shoulder to touch his lips to Cloud’s mouth. “But Vincent—”

“I trust Tseng’s judgment,” Rufus said, stepping back. A faint flicker of exasperation crossing his face. “Though I’d feel better if you didn’t look as if we were tossing you over a cliff. He’s saying Valentine should go with you to Midgar, not that you need to invite him to bed. If you want to discuss the second point, you should say so, Cloud.”

Tseng didn’t exactly smile, but he made it clear how amused he was. He slid around Rufus and kissed Cloud on the mouth; Genesis stirred and Tseng paused, then kissed him as well. It was just as much of a challenge as Rufus’ peck had been, but Genesis was relaxing when Tseng pulled away.

“Just don’t make me regret staying behind,” Rufus sighed. “I do draw the line at reconciling with Hojo.”

* * *

“Well, I didn’t give him that idea.” Aeris made a face at Cloud. “Ew. I mean, I’m the first to say always give people a second chance, and never judge a book by its cover, but…ew. Um, have you ever…”

Cloud tried not to think too hard about it. He didn’t want the mental images either. “No. Never even been tempted. Even in the lives where he’s _slightly_ less of a megalomaniac trying to destroy everyone.”

Both Aeris and Genesis eyed him, but he didn’t elaborate. Then Genesis let out a huff, as if he’d expected no less, and walked away, muttering something about overexposure to petty gossip. Aeris made to go after him, but Cloud shook his head and got off the traveling bag he’d been sitting on.

They were all waiting in the middle of a desolate beach somewhere west of Costa del Sol, where the fine sands that attracted all the crowds had petered out to rough pebbles and sea glass, on the second of three warps. Midgar was too far to make in a single jump, and since it was a covert operation they’d contacted local allies ahead of time to make sure their landing spots would be clear. The moment they’d stepped out of the gate here, Aeris had gotten an urgent message from her Midgar contact asking them to wait for further notice.

That’d been a good forty minutes ago. Cloud wasn’t getting worried yet, but none of them, not even Aeris, were used to waiting around. Vincent had lasted all of three minutes before disappearing into the shadowy dunes.

Genesis had been striding purposefully along, but he stopped suddenly and turned towards Cloud, and it was clear from his face that he hadn’t any more idea of how to use up the time. His lip curled as he gazed out over the waves. “Are we certain of this informant?”

“Yeah. Aeris is really good at that sort of thing.” Cloud walked up behind Genesis.

He put his hands on Genesis’ hips—whatever Genesis had been about to say withered in a stifled hiss—then slid them forward till he could catch the edges of Genesis’ coat. It was his trademark red leather one, repaired by his own hand, and that had been interesting to find out, that haughty Rhapsodos had mundane skills like that. 

Cloud pushed the coat out the way, then arrowed his fingers over the front of Genesis’ hips, letting his nails catch on the rough cloth. He slid one hand back, under the bottom of Genesis’ buttock, and pressed his thumb up against Genesis’ perineum, applying steady if light force while he opened Genesis’ fly with his other hand. He stopped when Genesis moved, and only when the man was still again did Cloud pull out Genesis’ cock.

They didn’t risk cock cages when they were out in the field, although Genesis had—teasingly—played along to Rufus’ jabs at Shinra-enhanced stamina for a while. Teasingly was what Cloud had thought at the time, anyway. The strip of linen wrapped around Genesis’ cock hadn’t been there the last time Cloud saw the man undressed.

He ran his fingers up and down the cock, listening to Genesis breathe a little quicker. The linen wasn’t so tight as to actually prevent the man from doing anything. “You and Tseng talk way too much when I’m not there,” Cloud said. He moved the thumb he had behind Genesis’ balls, cutting the other man off. “Go.”

Genesis twisted roughly against Cloud, trying to relax, and then sagged sharply as Cloud heard urine pattering over the pebbles. Cloud nuzzled the back of Genesis’ shoulder, rubbing his fingertips along the edge of the linen he was pressing out of the way.

When Genesis was done, Cloud wiped them clean with a small towel Aeris had, inevitably, managed to slip into his pocket somewhere along the line. He did up Genesis’ fly and then stood back, burning off the traces on the towel and the ground in a brief but pungent flare of pale fire. Genesis’ eyes widened as he watched the flames, and if they’d lasted a moment longer he probably would have stretched his hands out to them. He still didn’t have the control for more than party tricks and made no secret of his frustration.

“I applaud Aeris’ skills, but can she conjure us up an appropriate dwelling if the delay continues?” Genesis said. He looked pointedly at the empty dunes around them. “As it is, when we reach Midgar we’ll have to forgo a meal till you’ve bound me.”

“I think we could improvise something,” Cloud said. “Maybe stake you out with ropes. The moon’s nice tonight, it’d look good washing over you.”

Genesis glanced over his shoulder, then frowned and looked up. There was a flash of gold over his sword-hand; Cloud had loosened the ward to allow Genesis to draw his weapon freely, but Cloud could seal it back up at any time.

“Tied out for the starving gods of this forsaken little spit to feast on,” Genesis said with a snort. He glanced at Cloud again, then stepped back as something huge and dark wheeled overhead.

Vincent wasn’t fully transformed, Cloud noted with surprise. The wings were out, and it was hard to tell whether that thin long shadow trailing him was a tail or was a strap off his coat, but the rest of him was human. It was affecting his aerodynamics; he banked clumsily upon seeing them watching him, then went off in the direction that they’d left Aeris.

“Then again, I suppose I could be persuaded.” Genesis arched one brow at Cloud’s expression. “He is attractive. Perhaps you could change the play, and be the hunter rescuing the poor sacrificial victim from the beast.”

“He’s not a beast,” Cloud said. He rubbed his hands on his hips. “Don’t call him that. It—I spent a really long time talking him out of that one.”

“This one or another one?” Genesis asked. He sounded bored. His eyes weren’t.

Thankfully, Aeris called them back just then. Cloud wasn’t going to bet on Genesis dropping the subject, but this wasn’t how he wanted to do it. And he did, he admitted with a silent sigh, want to be there for this one.

* * *

The delay turned out to be due to their contact getting held up at work. Their contact being Scarlet, of all people. Cloud had known that she and Tifa had crossed paths, and that Tifa had told him not to kill her on sight after that, but he hadn’t realized that Tifa had signed her up.

Well, maybe. Scarlet made it clear she knew what Cloud and Rufus were doing, and neither Tifa nor Aeris would have mentioned that, so apparently she was working with Rufus, too. At any rate, she was still ruthlessly prepared to climb over bodies to get to the top, but somebody had opened her eyes to the fact that back-stabbing internal coups weren’t worth much when the world was in danger of ending. And since Heidegger had his hands full trying to control the two remaining generals, she’d taken over Shinra’s alchemical studies labs. Most of them.

“They put Hojo under house arrest in his main lab because he objected to what Heidegger wanted to do,” she informed them. “Seven hours later, the alarms went off. They sent in two teams and no one came out. They sent in a golem and whatever they saw, it made them seal up the lab like it had a live gate in it, or something just as powerful. Then they evacuated everything for five hundred feet around.”

“He _objected_?” Cloud and Aeris said.

Scarlet nodded. That was close to a month ago, at this point, and she still looked as if she didn’t believe it. “From what I heard, he’d been…failing for some time before that. Mentally. He’d made some sort of breakthrough but it didn’t work the way he wanted, and he threw a tantrum and just stopped working altogether.”

“You mean after the last exam,” Genesis said grimly. His magic was starting to fray, skittering and tugging at the edge of Cloud’s senses. They hadn’t had time except for Cloud to bring the man off with his hand and then slide on the cock cage. “He wanted to know why we weren’t _maturing_ properly. That’s the last study I remember him mentioning.”

“He had a meeting with Rufus’ father and apparently told him it was pointless to continue with the projects,” Scarlet said. Her lips thinned when the air began to fill with the smell of scorched cloth, but she didn’t look away from Genesis. “That’s when Heidegger took them over.”

“It’s still the same lab?” Vincent said, the first he’d spoken since they’d left Nibelheim. When Scarlet nodded, he stepped away from the table where they’d been halfheartedly trying to eat. “I remember how Lucrecia and I got out. He wouldn’t have corrected that, seeing as he caught us just outside.”

“How was that? We might have found it,” Scarlet said.

Vincent shook his head and continued out the door without even looking at her. Scarlet began to stand, angry, and Aeris put a restraining hand on her arm. Aeris also kicked Cloud under the table and he took his chance to pull Genesis away while he could.

The moment they were alone in their room, Genesis was on him, pressing him up against the door and using Cloud’s shorter height against him. Genesis’ mouth was hard and aggressive on his own, and the man’s hands were halfway to pushing Cloud’s pants down his legs.

Cloud grabbed Genesis’ wrists and Genesis jerked them free, not taking the warning. Then Genesis was clawing for Cloud’s arms, his hands scrabbling for support as he abruptly buckled to the floor. He managed to brace himself against Cloud’s legs and stared up, shocked and dazed. A drip of blood hung under his left nostril.

A little rougher magic than Cloud had meant—Tseng had gotten him used to easy pliancy—but Cloud didn’t let the pause go to waste. He grabbed Genesis’ wrists again and used them to drag the other man over to the bed. Genesis didn’t resist that, but he twisted when he hit the mattress. Cloud let go and the unexpected lack of resistance sent Genesis sprawling on one side, a smear of bright red on the sheets where his nose had skidded. He instinctively went for his magic, only to hiss when the seals flared.

They weren’t going to last long, for the same reason he couldn’t collect enough power for much spellwork these days: the power drain would gradually pull them to pieces. Even the sealing ward on his sword-hand had to be redone every day.

Of course, Genesis could have put up a fight without magic, but something seemed to have gotten through to him and he just laid where he was, resentful but quiescent. He neither resisted nor helped when Cloud stripped off his coat and shoes, pulled away belts and weapons till he was only in untucked shirt and trousers. He did look a little puzzled when Cloud pulled out the roll of ribbon, but that swiftly submerged itself in impassive contempt.

Well, Cloud didn’t need him to understand. He just needed Genesis to hold still, and Genesis did that beautifully as Cloud looped and knotted the ribbon over him. Arms against the side, and then bent so the wrists crossed just over the bellybutton. Then he turned Genesis over on his back, pushing the man’s legs up so his heels touched his buttocks. He wove a net of ribbon over each leg to hold them in place, then sat back.

The ribbon was black, and so were Genesis’ clothes, so if someone didn’t look closely they wouldn’t even realize he was bound. Or unless Genesis shifted, like he did then, the flex of his body temporarily pulling the ribbon into taut outline. He stilled as he felt Cloud lift the sealing wards, then gasped as, instead of letting the wards dissolve, Cloud twisted their power into his bindings. He arched, the ribbons glowing softly against him, and then fell back as the magic slowly seeped into him.

“What…” Genesis panted for a moment. Then he closed his eyes. “If I break these…”

“I stop feeding magic into you.” Cloud let another flicker of power go into the ribbons, far less than the amount in the wards. It’d be barely a shiver against Genesis’ skin. “They’re not going to last more than ten, fifteen minutes anyway, but I didn’t bring the right rope with me.”

Genesis nodded. He moved his head back and forth on the bed, then was still. He slowly relaxed, the lines of his body opening up. The ribbons across his thighs stretched slightly as his knees began to fall apart and his eyes flew open. He pulled his legs back up that minute fraction and then closed his eyes again, and they started again.

Ten minutes later, the ribbon was stiff and brittle in Cloud’s hands, and Genesis was lying unbound and exhausted and considerably calmer. He twisted his legs free of his trousers without lifting them from the bed, then slid over the bed to rest his head in Cloud’s lap. Cloud had been about to get up to throw away the ribbon, but he decided that could wait.

“I’m not that big on coming back here either,” Cloud said. He twisted the ribbon and watched a long fragment break off. “It’s funny how they keep building the same damn city in the same place.”

“Midgar is positioned in the middle of considerable natural resources, including several easily-tapped underground springs, three major trading routes and four to six campaigning routes, depending on your view of fighting in winter.” Genesis reached out and took Cloud’s hand. He pulled it up and kissed the back, then pushed it against his neck till Cloud loosely curled his fingers around that. Then he dropped his hands to his front. He ran them up and down his chest and belly a few times before beginning to unbutton his shirt. “They didn’t do it here, you know. They drugged us and took us out of Rufus’ apartment to some hiding place of Heidegger’s in the east, and that’s when they did—whatever managed to frighten even Hojo.”

Cloud snorted. “I’m pretty sure Hojo wasn’t frightened.” 

Genesis rolled his head back against Cloud’s stomach so he could look up. “You are very confident that they can’t repeat it.”

“No, I know I can kill you,” Cloud said. He paused, then sighed. “That…”

“It’s reassuring. Oddly.” Genesis smiled and it wasn’t exactly friendly, but it wasn’t malicious either. “About Valentine.”

“I’ll talk to him. I don’t know what Tseng said to him—anyway, I don’t think it has anything to do with you because Tseng’s not—”

“He’s at the door, Cloud,” Genesis drawled.

Cloud grimaced. He rolled his shoulders, then slid his legs out from under Genesis and got up and went to the door. Midgar was getting to him, if he was getting that sloppy.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” Vincent said when Cloud opened the door, as if he was delivering a package. “But Scarlet is leaving and she wants to speak with you first.”

Cloud glanced back into the room, then suppressed a flinch when he realized that let Vincent see in too. Not that Genesis cared; he’d finished unbuttoning his shirt and was lying on his side with his legs stretched out, the cock cage gleaming at his groin. He stared bemusedly back at Cloud, then rolled over to show them his back.

If he could do that, he was in shape for Cloud to leave him for a few minutes. Cloud stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him. Vincent moved ahead of him, heading for the stairs.

“Sorry,” Cloud said.

After a moment, Vincent turned around. He looked genuinely confused. “Why?” He hesitated, then looked away. “Cloud, I’m…I still count you as a friend. But I never had any real…I know better than to believe I can lay claim to another person, these days.”

“It’s not that,” Cloud said, suddenly and deeply irritated. “You always—damn it. It’s not like Lucrecia, and it’s not like that. It’s just that I knew you for the same life for a really long time, and that’s not you now and I get that and I’m mad I can’t get over you coming back. We went through all that trouble because we thought you couldn’t stand it anymore and then you just—shit. Excuse me.”

He pushed by, leaving the other man staring behind him.

* * *

Scarlet wanted Cloud to pass a message to Tifa about the merits of mechanical explosives versus magical ones. Cloud did pass it along, and then had a brief chat with Rufus through Aeris’ scrying mirror, in which Rufus looked worryingly intrigued at the idea of Tifa and Scarlet teaming up. After that, he mentioned to Aeris that he might have upset Vincent, and went back to the room he was sharing with Genesis.

They didn’t get up to that much, given the circumstances. And Cloud was distracted, and angry at himself for it, and that would have shown if he’d gone past his fingers and tongue in Genesis’ ass. Thankfully, Genesis seemed to take it as just part of the denial. He bit his moans into the mattress just as enthusiastically as before, and when Cloud finally took off the cock cage, the other man curled up around him and was promptly asleep.

Four hours later they were up. Magic generally was at its strongest at night, so patrol strength around Hojo’s lab was increased beginning at noon, the common time for starting preparations, and peaked just after dawn. There was a small gap midmorning when the patrols were staffed mainly with inexperienced recruits.

Genesis led them through underground tunnels till they were under the right building, and then Vincent took over. Hojo apparently had secret access passages all over the place, the better to slip unwilling subjects in and out, and Shinra certainly hadn’t discovered the one Vincent showed them since all the warding on it had Hojo’s signature.

Vincent wasn’t looking at Cloud or going near him, but that didn’t necessarily have anything to do with last night; every single one of them was fighting their reactions to Hojo’s magic, even Cloud, and it’d been a very long time since he’d slipped up and let Hojo get hold of him. Cloud didn’t know if Aeris had managed to get hold of Vincent and say something that…fixed things, but when Vincent had to, he helped Cloud take down a ward without hesitating. Cloud didn’t feel anything amiss in the other man’s magic either. But then again, Vincent could clamp down on his emotions better than anyone else.

But then they were up into the main part of the lab and Cloud couldn’t afford to think about it. The hallways were eerily empty, clear even of magic. It was as if they’d never even had any magic, as if they’d been dead and lifeless to begin with. At one point most of the world had been like that, Cloud thought, and he’d thought it completely normal.

“Strife,” Genesis hissed. He looked uneasy, enough to not bother hiding his relief when Cloud looked over at him.

“You had your memory face on,” Aeris muttered. Then she grimaced, her hands twisting in her skirts. “Oops. Inside slang.”

They all jumped at the sudden ripple of power. Vincent looked at them, then flexed his fingers again. The gold-plated ones now ended in long, curving claws, while his other hand…still was human-shaped, but it was a deep, almost purple black with tiny scales over it like dragon skin. A large bulbous growth was hanging from the palm, and as they watched, it grew, split like a flower and revealed a large gun. The gun’s muzzle was as long as Vincent’s forearm and its bore was a good two inches across: close-range only.

“You’re getting a lot better at that,” Aeris observed. “I don’t even feel the demons anymore.”

Vincent didn’t answer but his eyes strayed to Cloud. Then they swept forward as a strange, tentative susurration went through the air. It wasn’t just a physical noise; Cloud grabbed Genesis’ wrist, sealing ward flaring under his fingers, as the man made to draw his sword. “Wait a second,” he said. “That’s not…”

“It _hurts_ ,” Aeris said slowly.

She hesitated and Vincent didn’t. He moved up the hallway, stopped beside one door, and then pushed it open with the muzzle of his gun. Cloud let go of Genesis and followed. They stood at the doorway and looked into the room, and then Cloud stepped over the threshold. The others followed.

It was a large, longish room, with a line of fireplaces along one wall and marks on the floor where tables had once stood. Now all the furniture was gone, and there were only scattered pieces of broken glass here and there. And at the far end, up against the wall, a huddled body. Hojo.

He was little more than a skeleton, his skin hanging off of him in wrinkly flaps, and his eyes were rheumy and wavering, passing over Genesis twice before he recognized the man. “Oh, you survived,” he said. His voice was still strong, if oddly detached. It wasn’t the cold, clinical tone Cloud was used to; it was like Hojo had…given up. “Of course you would. She’s gone, she’s never coming back. Those fools.”

“Jenova?” Cloud said.

Hojo threw himself up, suddenly all trembling excitement. His overgrown, curling nails clicked against each other. “You! You know her. You know—” and just as suddenly, he collapsed “—but how can you know? She’s gone. I did everything right but she’s gone. That idiot Heidegger, he thought he could push on without her but you _can’t_ , you need her, she’s perfect. Without her, nothing is possible.”

“Wait. Wait. You tried to call her up.” Cloud had _thought_ they’d gotten rid of all the references to her. Even though it didn’t matter now, they had. “But she’s gone, so what the hell did you call up instead?”

For a moment Hojo stared at him, eyes empty and desolate. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing came. And that idiot Heidegger, he thinks we can _replace_ her. Thinks he can create the same. He doesn’t understand. It’s no use without her. You understand, don’t you?”

He raised one shaking arm towards Cloud, then let it fall. That susurration passed through the air again, and this time Cloud felt the way it dragged across his magic, like fingers trying to cling to him. The hollowness behind it.

Cloud stepped back. “You made yourself a sacrifice to her,” he said flatly. “Made her a nice home, and now everything’s crawling away from you because nothing wants to live in there. I did wonder whether you came back or whether the planet just keeps throwing you out.”

Hojo frowned. “Come…back? Then…I will try again, and she will—”

His face exploded. There wasn’t enough blood in his head to make a stain. It was like watching a bag of dust blow out.

“Just let him rest already, Cloud,” Aeris said. She let go of Vincent’s hand, tugging her finger out from the trigger of the gun, and turned away. “Some things don’t need to be talked to death.”

* * *

They didn’t bother to do a sweep of Hojo’s lab on their way out. Scarlet had already told Aeris that as much of Hojo’s notes that could be safely collected had been moved elsewhere, and what Hojo had said gave them all they needed to know about what wouldn’t be in those notes. Which they would have to get, and Heidegger’s as well, but for the moment they retreated to their lodgings. The fuss around Hojo’s death was immediate and all over the place; they’d want until tomorrow, when the investigation had settled on a couple places to focus on that they could avoid.

In the meantime, Aeris and Cloud had another visit to make. At least, that was the idea. They got halfway to where Zack was living before Aeris threw up her hands and told Cloud it was all right if he wanted to put off some things.

“There’s a difference between dealing with one thing at a time and avoiding them,” she said. She looked at him, then sighed and patted his cheek. “I’ll be fine. It’d be nice if I had somebody along because this isn’t easy for me, but things aren’t easy for you either and that’s fine, Cloud. It really is. You’re not failing me.”

“I miss him too,” Cloud said. He knew while the words were coming out of his mouth that it wasn’t going to do anything.

“But it’s different. You’re different.” For a moment Aeris rested her hand on his cheek. Then she took it away and smiled gently up at him. “You know, I think I’m glad I don’t remember this time. You and Tifa look so _tired_ sometimes, I worry that you can never rest enough.”

So he settled for making her promise to call him to escort her back—a little silly, given that Tifa had made damn sure Aeris could protect herself this life—and then he returned just in time to find Genesis and Vincent making out in the hallway.

No extras, just rumpled clothing, pressed bodies. Vincent’s gold-armored fingers gripping the red leather of Genesis’ coat, Genesis’ fingers twisted in Vincent’s hair. It looked like Vincent was the aggressor, since Genesis was the one with his back to the wall. For a moment Cloud was angry, and then he caught himself. One, if Rufus had been involved he’d have shown up, and two…

“Oh,” Genesis said. The two of them broke apart and he raised his hand to wipe at his mouth, his eyes studying Cloud intently over it. “Back already.”

Two, Cloud thought, he’d wanted to handle this one himself but he hadn’t exactly said that, or done anything about it, and damn it, he couldn’t be mad at Tifa either. When she was right, she was right.

He walked back down the hallway to the place’s miniscule kitchen, found the tea Aeris always had with her, and made himself a cup. When he was about to shed, he drank so much of the stuff that he normally hated the taste of it the rest of the time, but making it was an easy way to concentrate.

“Cloud,” Vincent said from the doorway. 

“I hate dealing with Hojo. He still throws me off,” Cloud muttered. He looked into his half-drunk cup, then put it down and turned around. “Look, what I said before, it was really…you didn’t deserve that. You deserved whatever you needed to be happy.”

Vincent looked downright irritated. He lifted his hand, lowered it, and then he came into the kitchen so Cloud couldn’t not look at him. “But that’s what happened. I can’t speak for any lives but the first one and this one, but I died that first time because you were right. I couldn’t go on like that and I am sorry it hurt you—”

“ _That_ didn’t hurt me.” Cloud exhaled roughly and slumped back against the counter. “Fine. It did. But I knew how to mourn people at that point. It was when you came back that it was…I don’t know, it was weird. I’d known you so long and then we had to start all over, and damn it, you were still fucked-up. You were somebody I didn’t have to let go of and then you were, and then you were and you weren’t and my life is confusing enough.”

His hand fell against the counter, making the teapot and cups rattle. He hadn’t even noticed he’d lifted it. Not that Vincent flinched, or anything like that. He just stood there and absorbed it and it would have been better if he had moved.

“You do have a lot more control over the transformations,” Cloud said after a while, when it was clear Vincent wasn’t going to leave. “You know I don’t mind them, right? It’s just you really hated them before, so I was surprised.”

“I think that had as much to do with unwillingly sharing my body,” Vincent said. “You remember that the demons used to be independent entities—they used to be able to force me into a change. But Aeris is right. I don’t hear them now. I don’t even think they exist—only their attributes.”

Cloud nodded. Made sense. There weren’t really summons now, either, not the ones with distinct personalities and almost human intelligence that he’d been born to. It was like the change of the Lifestream into magic had blurred out a lot of boundaries.

“Do you hate me?” Vincent asked quietly.

“I don’t—” Cloud winced. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I don’t really know you. This you. I’ve been too mad at you, but really that’s just an excuse. And I should’ve gotten over it a while ago. That’s why I’m sorry.”

Vincent nodded. He drew in a breath, about to say something else, and then closed his mouth instead. He looked at Cloud for a second longer, then turned.

Cloud caught his arm. His coat pulled down, the collar dipping to show a fresh red mark on his neck, and all of a sudden Cloud was thinking about Vincent and Genesis in the hallway, red and black and white, and then Tseng saying he wanted to talk to Vincent in the bedroom. And it wasn’t that easy, but it was in the open now, that Cloud was mad at him and for an unfair reason, and because Cloud didn’t have to work so hard at hiding that, he could look.

“Why _were_ you kissing Genesis?” Cloud asked.

A flush crept up over that red mark, and past Vincent’s jawline. He let Cloud pull him back into the kitchen but looked at the far wall. “…how you would.”

“What?”

Vincent took a deep breath. “He described how you’d kiss him. Juvenile, I realize.”

Taking lessons from Rufus, Cloud presumed. He opened his mouth to apologize for Genesis’ behavior.

“And I wanted something, even if it was secondhand,” Vincent suddenly added. He turned and looked straight at Cloud. “I’m aware of the difference in our feelings, and of what that means for me. And I find I don’t care.”

“I wish I knew why this always happens to you,” Cloud said after a moment.

“Because I’m the same person, and I have the same desires, and they may be unhealthy and cause me pain but they are mine,” Vincent said. “You have helped me, Cloud, and I am forever grateful. But you needn’t worry about saving me.”

“Yeah.” Cloud pulled on Vincent’s arm, and watched the surprise in the other man’s eyes slowly elide into pleasure. He put Vincent between him and the counter, holding the man’s wrists lightly against the edge. “Yeah, well. I’m me.” He paused, then let his fingers move in a slow, teasing caress against the underside of Vincent’s wrists. “You did talk to them about how I fuck, too, right?”

Vincent pressed his lips together. The gorge of his throat rose and fell as he swallowed roughly. “Tseng was fairly informative.”

“He’s good at that,” Cloud said, trying not to roll his eyes. He leaned forward. Let the weight of his body press down on Vincent, then tugged on Vincent’s arms.

Vincent bent down, his lips already parted. It was a slow, sensuous kiss, not at all like the devouring battle Cloud had seen in the hallway. Good, but…what he had seen in the hallway. He pulled back, keeping hold of Vincent’s wrists.

“Come on,” he said. “I want you to finish what you started.”

* * *

Genesis was predictably smug at first, but he balked when Vincent opened his mouth and he saw the fangs. For a moment Cloud wasn’t sure whether they’d have to put it off; they’d set up some wards when they’d arrived but nothing like the cocoon of muffling and dampening spells on Aeris’ house. And besides that, Cloud was…tired. Wondering. He didn’t have much of a record of good decisions in the wake of Hojo.

He blinked, then shook his head. Genesis had been almost relaxed against him, but now the other man glanced curiously over his shoulder. He moved his arms where Cloud had them locked behind his back and Cloud reflexively clamped down on his wrists. A shiver passed through Genesis and he slumped, his head still turned against Cloud’s shoulder.

They were on the bed, with Genesis naked except for the shining metal wrapped around his cock. Vincent knelt in front of them, his coat and boots off and his shirt hanging half-open where Genesis had forced the buttons. He tilted his head, his lips still parted so the tips of the fangs peeked out. Then he bent down and put his cheek near Genesis’ thigh.

Something dark moved against Vincent’s white teeth. It could have been the shadows from the flickering mage-lights; magic was more unstable in Midgar than anywhere else. But then it uncoiled leisurely, a thin black tongue that was rounded rather than flat. Genesis hissed when it touched him, his fists pressing into Cloud’s belly. He moved his knees like he was going to close them.

Cloud pushed his feet into the space under Genesis’ bent legs, but Genesis was already folding them so close to the headboard that he couldn’t really maneuver. Vincent saw and reached out to lift first one, then the other leg so they were hooked behind Cloud’s knees, held well apart. His tongue looped and doubled back on itself, making figure eights against Genesis’ thigh. It looked like a living ink curlicue on the white skin.

“Higher,” Cloud said. He let Genesis’ jerk pull the man up his chest.

Vincent didn’t move his head. His tongue lengthened till it was as long as a man’s forearm—it couldn’t possibly fit in that form in his mouth—but remained as thin as a child’s little finger. It unlooped and then glided up Genesis’ thigh, undulating gently. The tip tested the pelvic crease, pausing as Genesis inhaled sharply, then pressed firmly along the crease. Genesis kicked into Cloud’s calves, then shuddered, his legs widening of their own accord as Vincent licked further, just grazing the side of his scrotum.

The sheets rustled as Vincent laid down, half-twisting so he could put his cheek to the bed. He stretched out one hand and idly pushed it along Genesis’ thigh in short, brushing strokes, remind Cloud of nothing so much as a kneading cat. His tongue snaked over Genesis’ scrotum, circling back on itself in patterns that made Genesis hiss and moan. It gradually worked its way up the slight indentation between the balls and began to slide around the top. The tip teased once along the base of Genesis’ cock, then retreated, curling back behind the scrotum.

Genesis made a bitten-off, half-angry sound. One red eye, the pupil now gold and faintly slitted, rolled up to look at him. Then the eyelid half-closed over it. Vincent opened his mouth wider, crooking his neck so the scrotum hanging just above him came to rest on his fangs. His tongue continued to wind and tighten around the top of the scrotum, pushing it down even further, till the long sharp teeth were digging into so very tender flesh.

“Enough,” Cloud said. He bit the curve of Genesis’ ear, feeling the almost vicious way Genesis’ body had relaxed, then started. He felt around beside him, then held up the vial of oil.

Vincent gave Genesis’ thigh one last pet, then lifted his hand. He rippled his fingers as Cloud poured the oil over them, rubbing them against each other. Then he pushed himself up on his other arm, just enough to get his hand under his head and back against Genesis’ hole. His tongue and teeth pulled Genesis’ scrotum up out of the way and pressed it back against Genesis, and trapped Genesis’ bound cock against his stomach into the bargain. 

Precum was already dripping profusely down the side of the cock cage and the flow only increased as Vincent worked his fingers into Genesis. He tracked one dribble with his eyes. The tip of his tongue inched around Genesis’ scrotum, touched the drop of come as it finally reached the base of the cage, and then retreated. He moved his head slightly, his lips relaxing down over his teeth, and began to suckle at Genesis’ balls. 

Genesis held still but his thighs and chest were streaked with sweat and trembling at the effort. He hitched when Cloud licked at the top of his shoulder, then froze again, a choked whine emerging from his throat. “…warm,” he muttered roughly. He hitched again. “The shell, armor, what have you. It’s—Goddess—it’s _warm_.”

“You’d like cold metal?” Cloud asked, running his mouth over Genesis’ throat. “Hard and stiff in you?”

Vincent shivered. Cloud grinned and reached around to rub his hand over Vincent’s shoulder. Then he pulled at it.

“Put your tongue in him, too,” Cloud said.

Genesis moaned. His feet scrabbled against the bed as Vincent’s tongue loosened, pulling his scrotum free from Vincent’s dipping mouth; his longer legs meant Cloud couldn’t lift him high enough to get rid of all the leverage. Still, that didn’t save him when the thin dark muscle coiled back, wriggling along his perineum and over the back of Vincent’s hand. Vincent helpfully pushed Genesis’ cock and balls out of the way so Cloud could just glimpse the tongue squeezing in between two knuckles and under the flesh stretched over them.

Cloud reached down and wrapped his hand around the cock cage. Genesis had one arm free now, but he didn’t make any attempt to pull it out from behind him so Cloud moved his hand up the cage, rolling his thumb across the wet slit of Genesis’ cock. “Can you tell me what he’s doing?” he asked Genesis. When the only answer he received was a strangled groan, he sighed and pressed his thumb harder, till he felt the lips of the slit parting a little. “I should do this with Rufus. He’d tell me whether Vincent was licking your insides or just licking his own fingers in you. Or maybe he’s found your sweet spot. Is that it? Is he running his tongue over it? Around it? Just on the edges, circling in, but not going for the kill? Is that it?”

He kept talking. Maybe Vincent took some direction from it—a couple of the whimpers wrung from Genesis were suspiciously timed—but Vincent’s face was so deeply buried between Genesis’ legs that it would’ve been a miracle if he could hear. Maybe he’d transformed his ears.

Cloud paused, temporarily short of breath himself. He bit down on Genesis’ shoulder. He wanted to pull Genesis off of Vincent, flip the man over and fuck him into the ground. Wanted to fuck Vincent the same way, a quick rut, just to get the itching out of his skin. And he didn’t because he knew what came after that, when he did it that way. He was a disaster and this wasn’t natural and damn it, Hojo _always_ got to him.

And he wasn’t a great person, but he hadn’t signed up for that, anymore than the two other men had. He didn’t want to run, anyway. Not really. That had gotten…old.

Vincent sensed something, because his shoulders moved as if he were going to pull back. Cloud collected himself in time and shoved at one of them, then moved his hand back to around Genesis’ cock. “Finish,” he said.

“Please,” Genesis murmured. He arched, gasped, rubbed his face against Cloud’s throat. “Please. Let me come, please.”

“Now,” Cloud added. He pushed his thumb over the head of Genesis’ cock, then lifted it and moved it again in the same downward push, squeezing it up against the rim of the cage. “Not now. You’ve got two more hours.”

Genesis swore viciously. Then he collapsed against Cloud, his voice breaking with whimpers, as his hips trembled harder and harder, as come leaked from his cock, forced out of him in long pulses. Cloud rolled his thumb through it, smearing it back into the slit. He let go of Genesis and wiped his hand clean on the sheets, and then collected another fingerful of come and did the same, until they’d milked Genesis empty.

Vincent pulled back, glanced at the fresh stains on the sheet, and then ducked his head. He went further forward, lifting Genesis’ still shaking ass on his shoulders, and suddenly his mouth was wetting the front of Cloud’s trousers. Cloud swallowed a curse and grabbed at him, but Genesis’ heavy, unwieldy body was in the way.

“Teeth,” he snapped, trying to get around Genesis’ leg.

His fly was half-open by then. A warm mouth pressed past it, sucking at his erection. Blunt, human teeth grazed him, then withdrew. Vincent even used his flesh hand to pull out Cloud’s cock, curling his fingers to shield it from buttons, zippers, rough cloth.

Cloud settled for gripping Genesis’ thighs as Vincent sucked him off. He dug in when he felt the first coil of tongue—he hadn’t said anything about that, but it felt good, all right. Genesis bucked a little but didn’t protest, even when his legs began to bruise under Cloud’s fingers. He even was starting to roll his hips, pushing his ass down to ride the top of Cloud’s cock, when Vincent swallowed down Cloud’s come.

Vincent gave Cloud a hand in pushing Genesis off and to the side. Then he lingered, staring at Cloud. His clothes were streaked with come where he’d lain on the wet sheets, and more come was slicking his mouth. He raised one hand and touched his lips, still looking at Cloud. His tongue snaked out, lapped away the come, rubbing sensuously over his fingertips.

“All right, come here.” Cloud held out his hand.

He folded Vincent against his chest, with the other man on his side. Genesis had already rolled over and was plucking at what was left of Vincent’s shirt, so Cloud rid the man of his pants. Vincent curled his legs up to kick them off, then jerked his knees up again as Cloud ran one hand over his ass and between his buttocks.

“You’re wet,” Cloud said, blinking. After a moment’s pause, he drove two fingers into Vincent, immediately scissoring them. “Huh. Tseng does that, too.”

“This looks human enough.” Genesis lifted Vincent’s cock in his hands, leaning in to kiss the other man. He and Vincent ravenously went at each other, Genesis eventually sliding off shaky knees to fully sink into the kisses, and then Genesis twisted himself lower. He pushed his head between Vincent’s legs and sucked at the part of Cloud’s fingers that weren’t in Vincent, then straightened up. “I want to play with the wings.”

Vincent had his eyes tightly shut, working his whole body back into the movement of Cloud’s fingers, but he managed to shake his head. “There’s no room.”

“Later,” Genesis said, biting along Vincent’s jaw. “The wings, and the—”

“I could knot you.” Vincent slitted his eyes open. He pushed his head back against Cloud’s chest, panting. “I think I can—control that.”

“The bottom of his cock swells once it’s in you,” Cloud explained to Genesis. “Locks you together for a while. Like dogs. Did not know that about Chaos.”

Genesis’ lip curled, but his eyes contradicted that, and he bent willingly when Cloud pushed him down by the neck, drew his mouth to Vincent’s cock.

“Not now,” Cloud told Vincent. He kissed the man’s temple. “But yeah, I want to see that, too.”

Vincent writhed on Cloud’s fingers, then came.

* * *

It was a little unfair on Zack, but it definitely was an anticlimax to run into him the next morning at breakfast. But Cloud thought it was entirely fair to make Aeris do all the explaining, since she hadn’t contacted him like she’d promised.

“Well, I didn’t think I had to tell you I’d be staying the night, and I think _those_ two appreciated the lack of interruptions,” Aeris sniffed. She handed Cloud a string of materia. “Besides, Scarlet stopped by with these copies of Hojo’s notes, and she and Zack _both_ walked me over. So really, what would I have called you for?”

“I’m not explaining to him that I’m fucking four different men for health reasons,” Cloud hissed back. “Zack and Scarlet?”

Aeris momentarily looked as confused as he did. “I don’t know, it was the tea? Speaking of, I noticed you drank some. Are you getting the pains? Do we need to send you back?”

“No, I feel fine. I think I’m still good. I just…talked with Vincent, and we drank some.” Cloud fingered the materia, then shoved it into a pocket. “All right, so we still need to get Heidegger’s files. What did you tell Zack?”

“That we’re rescuing Angeal and Seph from that bastard, and that it’s _five_ guys,” Zack said cheerfully. “Gotta say, I still have no idea half of what you told me but Gen’s never ever wished me well before so whatever you’re doing to him, I’m for it. So what’s the plan?”

“I thought it was five, too,” Aeris said.

Cloud glanced through the doorway, where Genesis was clearly listening in and just as clearly untroubled by everything coming out of Zack’s mouth. “I think Reno’s just occasional.”

“Well, whatever works for you, man,” Zack said. “But seriously. Angeal. We—hey. Hey. You okay? You looked a little weird there.”

“Tea?” Aeris said.

“Fuck,” Cloud said, pressing his hand to his side. He absently noted Genesis and Vincent both crowding into the doorway. “No, damn it. Let’s just find Heidegger.”

* * *

Heidegger, as it turned out, was not in Midgar. They broke into some of his labs and collected some papers, but even at first glance the notes looked too old to tell them much. There were a couple other places that might have something, but the pains were escalating a lot faster than they usually did. Even Cloud wasn’t going to argue that it was stupid to ignore it.

Still, he wasn’t going to leave Aeris by herself. They couldn’t explain everything to Zack fast enough for him to know what to do about what might come up, and nobody was going to suggest they trust in Scarlet, however helpful she was being. So he stayed one more day, drank his weight in tea, and let Aeris show Vincent how to take a reading to monitor the levels of magic in him. Then Tifa warped in and Cloud warped out with Vincent and Genesis.

Thankfully, there weren’t any complications on the homeward jumps. Cloud stepped out of the gate, greeted Rufus and Tseng, and even managed to drop his gear off in his room.

It was the usual painful haze and waking up on a bunch of materia after that, right up until he opened his eyes and found himself looking at Cissnei. “Tifa and Aeris aren’t back from Midgar yet,” she said. She pushed at some of the materia around him with a broom, then turned around and waved to somebody. “I thought it’s supposed to go on for at least a day?”

Cloud turned over on his side. It hurt, but he could move around a lot more than usual, this soon afterwards. And the hurt was going away a lot faster. “How long was it?”

“Nine hours, thirty-eight minutes,” Cissnei said. She began sweeping away the materia. “You made just as many as last time, but they’re all high-grade.”

He flopped down and looked at the nearest one. She was right. That was weird. And this was still exhausting.

Somebody was bending down and touching him, a male voice speaking. Cloud shrugged and closed his eyes and went to sleep.

* * *

Tifa was back when he woke up again a few hours later, and full of news, mostly good for once. They’d gotten what they needed from Heidegger’s notes and they didn’t actually need to worry about an immortality spell or portion, since Heidegger was still assuming he could do that by recreating Jenova. They’d also blown up some buildings, but so far Shinra seemed to think it was an internal problem. Shinra had even pulled back some of the troops from the borders to try and get Midgar under control.

“Rufus wishes we’d killed his father while we were at it, but I didn’t want outright riots,” Tifa said. She eyed the man curled possessively around Cloud. “It’s going to be bad enough for the poor regular people, and it’s not like we’d be able to get enough forces up in time to take over.”

“I didn’t say I disagreed,” Rufus sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with a wish.”

Tifa grinned at him, then looked back at Cloud. “Zack and Aeris stayed behind to try and manage some of that, by the way. Don’t freak out, Lazard’s well enough to travel and there’s no point pretending he’s still affiliated with Midgar, so we moved him here and sent Nanaki to Midgar.”

Cloud pushed himself up against the headboard. He looked at Rufus, who looked right back as if he had no idea why Cloud might be concerned. Then he reached out and put his hand on Rufus’ arm. He moved it up to the shoulder, then around the back of Rufus’ neck. Rufus shivered, then settled under Cloud’s hand.

“We’ve a truce. Rhapsodos reasoned with him,” Rufus muttered. “Yes, I was surprised too. But apparently Rhapsodos is very eager to get his friends back, and he believes Lazard can help us swing the bulk of Midgar’s army over to our cause.”

“So who reasoned with you?” Cloud asked.

“No one.” Rufus turned on his side, so Cloud’s arm was supporting the back of his head. Under the blankets, his hand lightly circled Cloud’s knee, teasing at the soft underside. “There’s no real bone of contention between us.”

“Midgar?” Tifa said pointedly.

“That’s the past,” Rufus said. He shrugged. “If he wants to fight that fight, I’m happy to leave him to it. I admit it used to…mean something to me, but since I’ve left, I’ve built my own base.”

“On your own terms?” Cloud said. He raised his brows but let Rufus sit up.

Rufus stopped when Cloud moved his hand. After a moment, Cloud put his hand back on Rufus’ neck, just letting it ride as Rufus draped himself over Cloud’s front. The sheets slid down Rufus’ naked back and pooled low on his hips, as if his erect cock wasn’t already evident against Cloud’s leg.

“My brother doesn’t know what he wants,” Rufus said. He hummed and rolled his back up into Cloud’s stroking hand, twisting so Cloud’s fingers stayed in the groove of his spine. “And even if he learns…well, what does that mean to me?”

“That you’re a twisted fuck.” Cloud heard Tifa snort and kept his hand on the small of Rufus’ back, well in the safe zone. He bent down and kissed Rufus, then bit gently at the man’s lower lip, letting it tug free. “Okay. So did Aeris take the readings yet, or…”

Tifa rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’re fine to fuck them all silly. We’re still thinking about why it changed, but…look, let’s talk about that afterward.”

Something in her voice made Cloud look sharply at her. She held up her hands but didn’t look any less serious.

“We’ve got time,” Tifa said. “It’s important, but we’ve got time, Cloud. When do we ever?”

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. Old habits, he thought idly, and then grimaced as he remembered the last time he’d been thinking about that recently. “Yeah. And Genesis—”

“Was desperately hoping we wouldn’t have to resort to Miss Gainsborough’s toys again in your absence,” Rufus drawled. “I _do_ believe we’ve just enough time.”

* * *

Barely. Cloud bent Genesis over the bed, both of them still dressed. It was a rushed, unsatisfying fuck, just serving to get Genesis sated with enough magic to make him pliant for a few minutes and no more. Even having Rufus’ mouth ready and waiting for Cloud’s cock—still hard, no time to even get off in Genesis—didn’t really help.

What did help was having the room. Someone had been sensible enough to relocate most of the furniture, leaving them plenty of space on the floor in front of the bed. 

Cloud twisted his arm, then bent down and kissed the bottom of Tseng’s spine as the man’s ass spasmed around his fist. Tseng was dripping, the carpet under him matted with the juices leaking from his ass and the precum from his cock. He pulled weakly at the ropes that dragged his arms and legs out to large rings set into the floor, normally hidden under the carpet. His hips humped up the little they were able, then slumped as Cloud worked the widest part of his fist out of Tseng’s body. The reddened, abused rim of Tseng’s hole tightened over the back of Cloud’s hand and he paused, looking at it. Then he eased the rest of his hand out.

“All right,” he said.

Vincent had a towel, but instead of handing it over, he bent and lapped at Cloud’s hand with his demon’s tongue, the narrow black muscle winkling out every drop from beneath Cloud’s nails. Cloud wrapped his arm around Vincent’s waist, drawing him back against Cloud’s side, then reached down to fondle the rope wrapped around the base of Vincent’s cock.

He found the knot, pulled it loose, and then quickly pushed Vincent on top of Tseng, using his hand to guide Vincent’s cock into the other man. He could already feel the knot forming at the base of Vincent’s cock now that the rope wasn’t forcing it down, and he had to put both hands on Vincent’s hips and push to get the two men flush with each other.

Vincent hissed. The muscles of his back tensed, then roiled under the skin. They swiftly darkened and bulged out, and suddenly great bat’s wings were unfurling. The sounds of rending cloth and splintering wood filled the air.

Cloud leaned forward and saw Vincent’s claws sunk deep into the floor, a few inches away from Tseng’s nose. Tseng was moaning, apparently not put off, so Cloud let that be. He got up and stepped over the two men’s legs, then knelt down by their left arms with two lengths of cotton rope.

It was the work of a few seconds to knot one of them around the base of Vincent’s wing. Cloud tugged at the rope, testing the fit, and the wing flared to full stretch as Vincent snarled. He tugged again, then pressed one of the knots into the groove of a muscle; Vincent shuddered so the outer part of his wings flattened against the carpet.

“What are you doing?” Rufus asked from the bed.

“It’s not his natural form. He has to concentrate to keep them out if I don’t do this.” Cloud leaned over and knotted an identical wrap around the other wing, then got to his feet. “This way, he can just focus on not coming.”

Rufus whimpered. It seemed like an odd reaction till Cloud got over to the bed and saw what had been going on. He’d left Rufus and Genesis tied to the footboard. Genesis with red leather—cuffs on his wrists, a collar around his throat, a tight leather sheath around his cock in lieu of the usual metal tube, and a blindfold. As Cloud approached, he raised his head and craned it towards the sound, pulling on the braided leather cord that leashed his wrists to the footboard. The raw mark he’d just left on Rufus’ throat was just as red as his bindings.

Cloud unhooked Genesis’ leash from the headboard with one hand. With the other, he stroked his fingers deep into the man’s hair, twisting them in the soft strands. He pulled Genesis off the bed and pushed him to kneel, then turned to Rufus.

The other man had already struggled onto his knees. He wore black today: silky, translucent black stockings held up by a ruffled ribbon band around each thigh and a black lace garter belt that scooped low over his hips, high over his groin. A black leather collar on throat and cock, and black leather cuffs on his wrists, completed the outfit. He bent forward and Cloud indulged him, hauling back on the neck collar so Rufus gasped into the kiss. Then Cloud took his leash from the footboard and guided him off the bed.

Cloud kept Rufus on his feet, and Genesis on his knees, leading them both over to the other men. He maneuvered them so he and Rufus were sitting in front of Vincent and Tseng’s heads and Genesis was by the front edge of Vincent’s right wing, his back to them. Then he unclipped Genesis’ leash and leaned back. Genesis didn’t move, his hands groping blindly in the air over the wing.

“Down,” Cloud said, putting his foot out. He dug the toe of his boot into Genesis’ buttock, then sat back and pulled Rufus onto his lap.

Genesis put his hands down too quickly; Vincent jerked his head up, baring his fangs in a pained hiss that overrode Tseng’s moan. Instead of raising them, Genesis just splayed his fingers. He ran them tentatively over the broad flat plane, then again, increasing the pressure a little. Vincent continued to watch warily, but his eyes were slowly closing in pleasure.

Rufus made a bitten-off, low noise, clearly enjoying the sight, and rubbed himself back against Cloud. He whined when Cloud put a stop to that, pinning an arm firmly around his waist. Cloud ignored it and began to absently run his fingers over the garter belt, following the petals of the lace flowers.

“Little hairs,” Genesis said, voice thick but musing. He pinched his fingers around something too small to be seen, then rubbed over the spot with his palm when Vincent flinched. 

Inch by inch, Genesis felt his way across the wing till he was almost lying on it, his fingertips just lapping over the far edge. He bowed his body—the touch of his stomach made Vincent shudder, the scrape of his cuffs provoked a short but powerful slap of the wing upwards. Genesis immediately yanked his hands back across the wing, digging in with his nails. Vincent snapped his fangs and twisted, his head nearly hitting Genesis’ hip. His tongue did make contact and Genesis flinched, only to freeze, his hands pulled tight against his chest, as Cloud kicked his leg.

“You can _play_ with them,” Cloud said. “Not shred them.”

There was a resentfulness to the way Genesis nodded, but he was gentler when he lifted his hands back to the leading edge of Vincent’s wing. Vincent settled, then rose on his elbows as Cloud reached under him.

Cloud ran the back of his knuckles across Tseng’s cheek. Tseng stirred a little from where he’d buried his face in the carpet, cracking open bleary eyes. “You can come,” Cloud said softly.

Tseng’s eyes closed. Genesis made an amused, contemptuous sound and bent down. He appeared to be feeling out the bone that stiffened the wing’s edge, but then he suddenly darted forward and closed his mouth over it.

Vincent snapped his hips forward, his claws dragging up fresh shavings of wood from under the carpet. His wings quivered violently—Genesis stubbornly kept sucking—and under him, Tseng writhed the little he could, then slumped.

“What was that?” Cloud asked, pressing his thumb softly against Rufus’ balls. “His second?”

“Third,” Rufus said breathlessly. “Gaia. I—Cloud, I don’t think he’s even awake—”

“When the knot goes down, I’ll pull him out. Can’t separate him and Vincent before that,” Cloud said. He slid Rufus’ ass off his lap to the floor, then pushed down on the man’s shoulders for a moment. Then he got up. “I told you, you don’t get it this time.”

“I hate you,” Rufus moaned, but he stayed put.

Cloud rolled his eyes. He pulled Genesis off Vincent by the collar and around to the other side, helping Genesis find that wing. Then he went over to the wardrobe.

When he came back, Vincent was squirming and panting open-mouthed while Genesis licked and nipped at where wing joined back, using his hands to make the rope there rub over Vincent’s skin. Blunt teeth, normal tongue, Vincent wasn’t too far from falling apart himself—Cloud stroked the top of his head, then told him to come whenever he wanted. By the time Cloud had seated himself by Rufus again, Vincent had cried out and let his head fall against the floor, held off Tseng only by shaking arms.

“Lie down,” Cloud told Rufus, who was staring at the tray in Cloud’s hands.

Rufus looked up and there was an uncommon depth to the heat in his eyes. Then, before Cloud could do more than feel an itch to get up again and leave, Rufus had draped himself on his back, his hands crossed over his head and his bent knees spread wide. He closed his eyes.

Cloud swallowed hard. He glanced at the tray, then gave himself a shake. He bought himself a little time by getting Genesis away from Vincent, forcing him to lie on his belly and be quiet. Then he went back to the tray. He swallowed again, then dipped his finger into the open pot of salve.

Rufus breathed in fast and quick as Cloud dabbed the numbing salve over his nipple. He didn’t breathe at all when the clamp fastened over the stiff, peaked flesh, and then he let out a sharp, needy whine as Cloud drove the needle through it. His mouth fell open and he panted through the rest of the piercing, until the latch on the ring clicked shut, and then he groaned, his eyes opening.

Cloud put a knee on Rufus’ stomach for the second piercing, even though Rufus had held still enough without it. When he was done, he bent over and blew on each nipple, then picked up a Cure materia and held it briefly to the swollen tips. Rufus began squirming at that moment, and only moved more when Cloud got up and pulled him back on Cloud’s lap.

“You didn’t heal them all the way,” Rufus said, half-complaining, half-luxuriating.

“We’ve got another hour before we’re done,” Cloud said. He reached up and carefully flipped one ring back and forth, then mouthed at Rufus’ groaning throat. Then he stretched out his foot and nudged at Genesis’ back. “All right, you can touch them again.”

* * *

“So here was what I was thinking,” Tifa said. “We looked at what Heidegger was doing, we looked at what Hojo was doing, and I don’t think what happened was because of either of them. I think they just opened the door and the planet’s trying to walk through it.”

Genesis leaned back in his seat. “You think that the _planet_ is responsible for what happened to myself, Angeal and Sephiroth?”

“But it isn’t that aware now, it doesn’t talk anymore,” Aeris said. She blushed a little as Tifa wheeled sharply on her. “No, no! I haven’t been trying, I promise. It’s only that’s what you told me happened, the last time I remembered. I was trying to talk to the Lifestream and I couldn’t reach it like I used to be able to.”

“Just because it’s not how it used to be doesn’t mean it’s…not doing things,” Cloud said. “And it’s not as nurturing as the old stories. It can be pretty damn vicious sometimes.”

“Or maybe it’s broken, and it’s trying to fix itself and put everything back in order, but all it can do is bring people back over and over again,” Tifa said. She slowly settled back in her chair, looking each of them in the other. “Jenova’s gone. It can’t bring the people Jenova possessed back _like they were_ , because it doesn’t have Jenova’s cells. So it puts something else in there, something to fill up the holes, and why not try to rebalance things while it’s at it?”

“But that is precisely what Hojo told us he had attempted,” Genesis said. Then he pulled himself sharply out of his chair, twisting to the side in a whirl of red. He pushed the chair back under the table in the same motion, then completed the turn to glower at Tifa. “I don’t doubt that _someone_ was meddling in matters they shouldn’t, but—”

“Because it _worked_ , that’s why it wasn’t him or Heidegger,” Tifa snapped. Her fists slammed on the table, sending an uneven, iridescent shimmer across the surface. The spellwork wavered a moment longer, then frayed; a huge crack split the wood. “Those two wanted Jenova back. Hojo remembered what she was like so he knew he didn’t get her. Heidegger doesn’t remember and doesn’t understand a lick of Hojo’s notes. He gets three men who eat magic, he thinks that’s Jenova. That wasn’t Jenova. Jenova _was_ power, as much as the planet is power. And you three, you’re the opposite.”

Genesis shook his head. “And how could the planet possibly come to that as a solution?”

“No, it makes sense,” Cloud muttered. “Jenova was a disease, all right? She competed. She got stronger when others got weaker. But you don’t get stronger when I pump magic into you. You just get closer to how you were.”

“The amount of magic you take in during a single night is at least equal to what you wielded before Heidegger’s experiment,” Vincent said, interrupting Genesis. But he was looking at Tifa, his brows knitted together. “And I remember the planet once responded to the threat Jenova posed by trying to eliminate all human life. Disproportionate responses aren’t new to it.”

“Except it’s not a disproportionate response. It’s not even about Jenova. We’ve been so distracted trying to figure out where she fits in that we forgot the real reason the Lifestream was dying. We remember so much that we remember wrong.” Tifa put her arms on the table. The edge of one crack caught her and she lifted her arm, frowned at the scratch and then wearily shook her head. “The planet’s not trying to copy her. Hojo and Heidegger were, because they’re crazy idiots, but she’s gone and we keep saying it but we’ve just been ignoring that. But the planet hasn’t, because the planet’s been trying to copy the reactors.”

They were all silent for a moment. A chair creaked; a foot shuffled against stone. 

Someone cleared their throat. “…much as it pains me to say, inside slang,” Rufus sighed. He plucked a dog hair off his sleeve and flicked it so it fell towards Tseng’s shoes. “Reactors?”

“You’re the drain,” Cloud said, looking at Genesis. Then he slid down in his head until he could press the back of his head against the chair. “I’m the…the…what was that part called?”

“Don’t need the actual names, it’s input and output,” Tifa muttered, her head in her hands.

“Yo, inside _slang_ ,” Reno protested, while Rude vainly tried to pull him back. Cissnei glared at him, but moved aside for Elena to prod at Tifa. For once Reno ignored the byplay and stayed on topic. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cloud rubbed his hand over his face. “There’s too much magic in the world. There used to be too little, because people didn’t use magic as magic. They used it to make electricity—yeah, exactly, you can’t have electrical things now except as toys in big lead boxes because magic fucks up the electromagnetic fields. It’s like the cycle is one-way, just pumping more and more magic into the world, so…you need drains.”

“But why would that drive this reincarnation?” Vincent asked. “Why bring back everyone, if you only need a few of them?”

“You can’t cycle a whole world’s worth of magic through just Cloud,” Tifa said. “Not that the planet hasn’t been trying, but even he’s got limits. And this is a planet, not a person. Even if it was healthy, it doesn’t think like us.”

“The last time the balance was changed. It doesn’t understand how that happened. It just knows who was involved.” After another moment, Cloud pulled himself up. He looked over at Tifa and she winced, avoiding his eyes. “So he’s going to kill us.”

Tifa nodded. “I know. We promised.”

“Inside _fucking_ slang, man,” Zack said. He’d been vibrating with increasing intensity from the dresser where he’d been sitting, and now he jumped off and strode up to the table. “Look, I am still confused half the fucking time with all of this, but at the end of the day Midgar’s trying to take over the world, and if we don’t get Seph and Ang out of their hands, I think they’ve got a pretty good shot at it. And I think you’re saying that Midgar’s just going to end up fucking everything up, too. So whoever you’re talking about, are they really going to be more upset than if we just left them to watch everything go to hell with no idea why?”

“That’s exactly what he told us he wanted—damn it, Aeris.” Tifa pushed herself back from the table, then bent to rub at her shin. Then she looked irritably around at everyone. “Oh, for—Reeve. We’re talking about Reeve Tuesti. Even if you don’t remember, it’s a systems engineering problem. Who else would we be talking about?”

“Well. That was a lengthy preamble,” Rufus said after a moment. “I’ll be more succinct—I’ll speak with my brother, we’ll have Mr. Tuesti look into the matter, and someone will get Sephiroth and Hewley before the planet decides we’d all do better as pipe fittings. There.”

* * *

Lazard hadn’t been at the round-up meeting because he’d insisted on staying in separate lodgings, where he’d had a relapse of mage fever and had had to be confined to his room because the most notable symptom of mage fever was a tendency to disrupt magical wards. The most effective treatment, if insanely expensive, treatment for mage fever was soaking in a solution of dissolved materia—basically, absorbing magic. It was good support for Tifa’s theory, and was apparently enough to get Rufus and Genesis in the door to talk things over, since Reeve had secretly defected to Lazard ages ago and only Lazard knew where he was currently hiding.

Aeris and Zack had had to leave right after the meeting, so they could slip back into Midgar and try to help alleviate the brutal security crackdown Shinra had instituted. Zack had wanted to stay, and hadn’t gone till they had promised him they’d recall him the moment they went after Sephiroth and Angeal. It’d left Cloud very annoyed, to be honest: he understood Zack’s feelings, but Genesis was only stable for twelve hours at a time, thanks to a _lot_ of effort, and he had undergone the least drastic transformation. They could get rid of Sephiroth’s and Angeal’s guards, but it wasn’t as if they could actually free the men from whatever holding system Heidegger had cobbled together. Not until they had figured out a better way to neutralize the raging power sinks in the men.

So he’d been annoyed, and had maybe been a little nastier than he needed to be with Zack. And maybe Zack had stared back at him for a second, like the man had been surprised and had surprised himself by feeling like that. Cloud hated to even think it, but it probably wouldn’t work in their favor if Zack decided he was going to get his memories back _right now_.

He’d been Cloud’s best friend. Only friend, for a while. And sometimes he just reminded Cloud of that in a way that rubbed a little raw—not on purpose, because it was Zack, but it was _Zack_.

Speaking of people who had contentious places in Cloud’s memories. For a moment Cloud debated not opening the wards. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated, and let Vincent into the armory.

The other man came in slowly and cautiously. He did a fairly good job of hiding his astonishment at the racks and racks of guns, and crossed the room to stand a few feet from Cloud’s left shoulder.

Cloud stared at the heavy beams above him. They were so old and so soaked in magic that they looked like stained oak instead of the steel they really were, glassy materia patches age-roughened into a faux grain. “Did you want something?”

“Tifa wants to speak with you,” Vincent said.

“Fine,” Cloud said. 

He didn’t move. Neither did Vincent. A draft whistled through the tower; all the magical warding in the world couldn’t seem to plug all the cracks. It rattled something somewhere in one of the racks and Cloud made a note of the general direction. The wind wasn’t nearly strong enough to be shaking the guns so there must be a screw loose somewhere.

Cloud snorted at himself, then sat up and turned. “You know, sometimes I’d just like to not be around people?”

“She did mention this was the longest you’ve stayed with them in several years,” Vincent said. He sounded oddly amused, as if he hadn’t been gripping Cloud hard enough to bruise last night. “I’m not in a position to judge.”

And he sounded almost like…Cloud was annoyed for a moment. Enough so that a flicker of nerves showed in Vincent’s eyes. But then Cloud shrugged. He pulled up his knees and wrapped an arm over them. “You saw me off more times than she did. I don’t know why, but you usually outlived most everybody else.”

Vincent’s eyes widened. He looked—but who the hell didn’t look young to Cloud these days.

“Fuck,” Cloud muttered. He put his hands down on the stone floor, thinking about getting up. Then he picked them up and folded his arms over his knees. “Fuck. That’s not fair, sorry.”

“I don’t know how to feel about it,” Vincent suddenly said. He pushed the hair back from his face, a rare outward gesture of uncertainty. “I don’t know how you carry it so well. I don’t—I only _remember_ the first life, and you—”

“This is not carrying it well. You want an example of that, there’s Tifa.” Cloud pulled his hands off his knees again. He moved them restlessly over the floor, then gave himself a sharp shake. Then he gestured at Vincent. “Fuck it. Here.”

“No,” Vincent said, blinking. For a moment he stared at Cloud’s hand as if he were drowning and it was the only way out and he didn’t know why he hadn’t grabbed it. Then he shook his head slowly. “No. Cloud, it’s not…I’m not…”

“You just said you weren’t fine,” Cloud said.

Vincent sighed. This time, he sounded infinitely more sure of himself. “It’s not something that _ends_ , Cloud. I’m not in your position but I think I know enough to say that. It’s always hard.”

“Like I don’t know that?” And this time, Cloud did get up. He walked off towards the keep, then spun on his heel and looked at the other man. “Look, what the hell do you want?”

“You don’t have to like us,” Vincent said. His voice twisted, driving deeper than he’d clearly expected, but his gaze stayed calm and level. “It doesn’t mean anything. If we remember, if we don’t. You don’t have to do anything simply because of what came before.”

Cloud turned around and walked out the door into the keep. He went several yards into the great, empty hall, staring blankly around him. His foot scuffed against an unevenness in the floor and he stopped. He breathed a few times. Then he pressed his hands over his face. He breathed into them a few more times, then let out a sigh.

He went back into the armory. Vincent was still there, turned halfway around, one arm wrapped horizontally around his chest, the other clamped diagonally up so golden talons dug into his shoulder. His coat was starting to give under the claw tips.

When he heard Cloud, he jerked about and stared, letting out a relieved hiss. Then he straightened up and looked…more embarrassed than he’d been capable of in some lives. “Cloud, I—”

“I know all of that, but it just really fucking isn’t easy sometimes,” Cloud said. He closed the door and leaned on it. “And it’s funny, but you’re still pretty good at saying that when I can stand to hear it.”

Surprise, then more relief, and then Vincent shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what would be trespassing and what wouldn’t,” he finally said. “I have the memories. But I feel that…I haven’t earned them. And I would have—I am not the same, I would have acted differently sometimes, so how can I stand on them? But I miss being your friend—I mean, I wish I was your friend.”

“You are my friend,” Cloud said.

“I’m not that friend,” Vincent said.

“Well, I killed that friend, so that says something, doesn’t it?” Then Cloud bit back a groan. He kicked one heel idly back into the door, letting himself sink into the brief, sharp pain. “Damn it. Vincent. It’s rough, all right, and sometimes I slip up, and all right, Tifa and I go on and on about what happened before way too much. But generally I do live one life at a time. It’s insanity otherwise. Well, it’s not that far from insanity anyway, but…I don’t know. I’m trying not to fuck up anyone else, anyway.”

Vincent at least appeared to be listening, although he still had a faintly sad, wistful air. Maybe that was just his memories filtering through. “I don’t know how anyone could measure that,” he said slowly. “We have our memories or we do not. If we do, we still have to live this life, just as you do. If we don’t, we have no reason to trust what you tell us are our memories, except the reasons you give us in this life.” 

“Don’t be stupid. I’m—Tifa and I, we’re manipulative as hell,” Cloud snapped. “Everything might still be guesswork but we’re three guesses ahead of the rest of you and we know it and we use it. I’d say we try not to be evil about it, except I’ve been around long enough to really wonder how the hell you measure _that_. So let’s just say we try to have a reason we give a damn about for doing it.”

“Then let’s say it still troubles you,” Vincent said calmly. He watched Cloud. “I can only speak for myself, but that will suffice.”

Cloud opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he sighed and put his head back against the door, closing his eyes. Honestly, he’d missed Vincent too. And he hadn’t. And this wasn’t exactly the same and he was and he wasn’t expecting that, and it was just the usual mess and he didn’t want to keep trying to think through it. He didn’t even have to, did he. He just…lived with it.

He opened his eyes. “You’re still over there,” he said after a moment.

“I can wait.” Vincent frowned.

“Well, fine.” Cloud pushed himself off the door, looking around them. Then he put his hand on the rack to his left. He drummed his fingers against one of the rifles on it. “Okay. That was long enough. Come here.”

Vincent leaned forward, but was still frowning at him.

“Here,” Cloud said, letting his eyes drift down the man’s body. 

After another moment, Vincent’s foot slid forward. He paused, then took another step. Then another, which put him right in front of Cloud.

“I want you,” Cloud said. He put his hand up and just let his fingertips float over Vincent’s cheek. “What do you want?”

Vincent’s eyes half-closed. His head tilted towards Cloud’s hand, and then, when Cloud removed his fingers, he straightened and opened his eyes. “I want you to have everything,” he said, very quietly. “The beast, I know, it’s a gift that you don’t care about it. But—”

“Yeah, there’s the man, too.” Cloud closed his hand around the lapel of Vincent’s coat. He held it for a second, then tugged sharply and let go. “Off. Down.”

The clothes came off, and then went into a neatly-folded pile to the side, shoes on top, as Vincent gracefully folded onto his knees. Cloud stroked one pale, smooth shoulder, then walked around him to stand in front of the rack.

One by one, Cloud removed the rifles. The rack was made of sturdy wood, two horizontal crosspieces bolted to the wall. Each crosspiece had half-circles scalloped out at regular intervals to hold the rifle, and a straight metal bar latching across the scallop. Cloud left two bars unlatched on the top cross-piece, one on the bottom. He tested the bolts in the wall, leaning on them, but didn’t feel any give.

When he turned around, Vincent was still kneeling there, head bowed, hands relaxed at his sides. He didn’t look up as Cloud came to stand behind him, hands on his shoulders; Cloud bent and kissed the side of Vincent’s neck, listening to the catch of his breath, and then slowly drew his hands down Vincent’s arms. He kept the pressure light and even till he got to the hands, and then he fit his thumbs into the man’s palms and pushed down hard.

“Strip,” he said.

Vincent’s head jerked but didn’t lift. He inhaled roughly, then tensed. His palms turned hot and strangely molten, as if the flesh had changed to running wax, and then cold metal pressed back at Cloud.

The guns came out, and Cloud set them carefully aside, away from the rifles. He rubbed at Vincent’s palms till he felt calluses again, then released them. Then, as Vincent was releasing a long-held breath, Cloud closed his hand around Vincent’s armored wrist. “Strip.”

A low, stifled groan came from the other man. His head moved side to side, and then hung low as the stiff gold plates suddenly quivered under Cloud’s hand. They flexed and bent, then split, sinking back into plain flesh. In their place formed smooth, silky skin, so delicate that it flushed when Cloud blew over it.

Cloud kept that grip, and took hold of Vincent’s other wrist as well. He dragged the other man over to the rack, not letting Vincent off his knees, and pushed the wrists into the scalloped hollows. The scoops in the wood were not quite deep enough and the metal bars pressed tightly into Vincent’s skin when Cloud latched them. Vincent winced, then groaned without restraint when Cloud traced lightly over one wrist, the one that had been armored and now was naked and defenseless.

The top crosspiece wasn’t tall enough to stretch Vincent’s arms fully, not when he was on his knees, and Vincent was in fact squatting now because the bottom piece had pushed up his knees. But there’d be enough room under the bottom piece for his legs, Cloud noted.

He turned away and looked over Vincent’s guns, picking up each and examining it closely before he finally made his choice. Cloud picked a large, sturdy handgun, with a barrel as long as his hand and smooth all the way down. He carried it back over to Vincent and pressed the side of the barrel to Vincent’s cheek.

“Loaded, right?” Cloud said.

Vincent’s eyes were squeezed shut. He nodded tightly, shifting and pulling at his wrists, trying to find his balance. His foot slipped when Cloud slid the barrel lower, across his throat and onto his chest. He hissed, then tried to raise his knee from the floor. Cloud bent down and pushed down on Vincent’s thigh, keeping it pinned. He looked up, at the stretch of the muscles in Vincent’s arm and shoulder, the reddening flesh under the metal latch, and then he wrapped his hand around Vincent’s ankle and pulled it out to the side.

Forced to spraddle his leg, Vincent had to straighten his arm. He breathed in short, quick bursts, then stopped altogether as Cloud rubbed the gun across one nipple. 

“You never talk,” Cloud said. He traced the barrel along the lines of Vincent’s pectorals, then seesawed it down the ribs. Then he brought it back up, letting the stock roll over Vincent’s other nipple as he tipped the barrel so the tip pushed up into the underside of Vincent’s jaw. “You don’t beg like the others.”

He used the gun to force back Vincent’s head. The man’s eyes were open and glazed, his mouth working soundlessly. His tongue flicked convulsively over his lips as Cloud pushed the gun towards them, then lapped air as Cloud pulled it away at the last minute.

“I don’t think you’re stronger. I don’t think that’s it.” Cloud moved around Vincent and pushed the gun up against his back, lengthwise with most of the barrel nestled along Vincent’s spine. He rubbed it up and down a few times, then dragged it down, pushing the stock in between Vincent’s buttocks. “I think it’s because it doesn’t even occur to you to beg. This isn’t your body, it’s mine, you have no right to ask so you don’t.”

Vincent’s moan was ragged and deep. He sagged against the rack, then jerked up awkwardly as the barrel slipped over his hole. Cloud pressed the gun there, teasing with his fingers around the metal; he felt slick fluid already seeping out from around it. Enough so that when he moved the gun and pushed in the tip, Vincent didn’t react until an inch had already disappeared in him.

Then Vincent stiffened. He let out a sharp, bitten-off gasp. His hips pushed further up, then shuddered as Cloud stopped pressing the gun in and just rotated it back and forth, spreading the wetness around. Working it up, convincing Vincent to leak more of it. A thin trail of the stuff was already gliding down the barrel of the gun.

“I think you just know,” Cloud added. “Now open.”

Vincent made a choked, urgent mewling sound. He spread his legs, clumsily pulling his knee off the bottom crosspiece, and as he spread them his body sank down onto the gun. It was a little wide—Cloud could see the flesh twitching, trying to stretch without tearing—but Vincent rocked and pushed and took the barrel halfway.

The bottom crosspiece was in the way. It pushed his knees back so his ass lifted. He struggled for a moment, then, moaning, jerked his ankle out so his legs were almost entirely out from under him, spraddled away from his torso. Cloud helped by pushing him forwards, trapping his knees under the crosspiece. The rest of the gun barrel disappeared into him, until the bullet chamber was nestled right up to his hole, chilly dark steel cradled by the globes of his ass, the safety dangerously close to the floor.

“I’m going to let go of it,” Cloud said, leaning over Vincent’s shoulder. He kissed Vincent behind the ear, wrapping his arm around the man as Vincent made a frantic, raspy noise, and then eased his hand off the gun so it balanced on top of the crack between two stones. “Don’t move. You’ll push the safety down.”

Vincent shuddered. He put his head back till it was pressed into Cloud’s shoulder, his pants gusting by Cloud’s ear. Cloud stroked his belly comfortingly, then moved his hand down to Vincent’s cock. He took hold of it, pulled his fingers teasingly up the erect shaft, and then cupped them under Vincent’s scrotum, lifting it till Vincent was shaking with the effort of holding still.

He found the unlatched bar, pushed it aside, and then pulled Vincent’s cock and scrotum into the half-circle hollow so Vincent’s balls rested on top of the crosspiece. Then he pushed down the latch and locked it over Vincent’s cock. He didn’t need to see what he was doing; he could hear in Vincent’s whimpers how much the bar hurt, how it dug into his cock, how the unyielding wood held his scrotum painfully high.

“Not tight enough to keep you from coming, though,” Cloud said. He folded himself more closely around Vincent, running his fingers lightly over Vincent’s cock, bringing his other hand back to scoop up the gun and nudge it just that little more into the other man. “It’ll hurt, coming like this. But you’ll do it.”

Vincent twisted in between Cloud’s hands, half-moaning, half-sobbing. Cloud gave him a rhythm, the gun into him and the hand up his cock, the hand down his cock and the gun out, and he struggled against it. Failed, sagged, and then took it up, rocking frantically until come ran out over Cloud’s fingers. He opened and closed his hands in their bonds, his fingers unable to even grasp at anything.

Before Vincent had stopped shaking, Cloud pulled out the gun, set it aside, and pulled open his trousers. He grabbed hold of Vincent’s hips and fucked Vincent hard and fast, not letting the man catch a breath till he’d come himself.

It was an awkwardly low position, even for Cloud’s shorter build. He slipped half-out of Vincent without noticing, then pulled back the rest of the way. “Just like the other guns here,” Cloud said, still panting himself. He put one hand down on the floor to support himself. “Look at you. I could leave you here, let that mess on your legs dry. Come back whenever I want you. Never actually take you out of here.”

Vincent was hanging from the top cross-piece, his fingers half-curled and limp. “Cloud,” he rasped, his voice so rough that at first Cloud took it for a groan. “Cloud.”

Cloud crawled back over and leaned against Vincent’s back. He felt the other man sigh and kissed Vincent’s jaw. He reached up to touch the latches across Vincent’s wrists, then paused. “Thanks,” he said. He kissed Vincent again, craning around to catch part of Vincent’s mouth; Vincent’s lips moved slackly but noticeably in response. “You know, you can talk about what you remember.”

He flicked the bars open, then dropped his arms. One went around Vincent’s waist, the other reached for the bar trapping Vincent’s cock. Vincent dropped his arms too, and his hand weakly but clearly closed over Cloud’s wrist. Cloud stopped his hand just short of the latch.

“I didn’t want to die because I’d given up,” Vincent murmured. “I wanted it because—I couldn’t go any farther, not as I was, but I wanted to. I wanted to see you again. I was hoping I’d come back.”

Then he turned his head and laid it against Cloud’s shoulder. He was still and quiet, just resting.

Cloud pulled up the latch. He toyed with it for a moment, then abandoned it to just close his hand around Vincent’s cock, just loosely holding it. Vincent hummed pleasantly, shifting to curl closer, and Cloud bent his head and their mouths fully met.

* * *

Reeve, as it turned out, had gotten his memories back a while ago and had managed to keep it from everybody. “So no, I’m not upset,” he said wearily. “I know exactly why you’d think I would be, but I’m not. I was mad when I first remembered, but I’ve had three years to work through it and I’ve decided I don’t want to be upset anymore. Now give me the data and some room to work.”

Tifa was…upset. Enough so that Cloud cornered her in the keep and they ended up sparring, and roughly enough that people came running. Not so roughly that either of them felt really guilty about it, except for not weaving the muffling wards tight enough.

“Should I feel bad about that?” Tifa asked. She flopped onto the couch, then grimaced and pulled a long leather strap out from behind her, which she tossed onto a nearby table. “I think we reminded Cissnei of something bad. She said it wasn’t her run-in with Rhapsodos and I believe her, so…”

“Speaking of, did you see Genesis’ face?” Cloud said. He stretched out in one of the armchairs and picked at some dried blood on his arm. “You’d think he’d be used to it, with the way he and Sephiroth are.”

Tifa flapped her hand at him. “That wasn’t about us hurting each other, idiot. That was about you getting mad and leaving. Which is also what he’s used to.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then they both looked away, laughing. It wasn’t really funny, and they didn’t really take the others’ reactions that lightly, but there were some things that just the two of them had. It wasn’t inside slang; it was friendship.

“Do you ever wonder why you come back every time?” Cloud asked slowly.

For a while Tifa just stared at the ceiling. “Did I ever tell you, Reeve and I got together once?” she said. She glanced at Cloud, then rolled her head back. “Not last time. He was so tired last time, and had so much to do…and Gaia, I was about ready to just shoot myself in the head and get on with the next life.”

“You what?”

“I’m just saying what we both know,” Tifa said, looking back at him. She waited till he nodded unhappily, then sat up. “I don’t think about the reason. I did, but now I don’t. I don’t _care_ why, I just know that I’m glad I’m around and I’m glad you get a friend who understands and I get a friend who understands. I don’t care if we’re paying for it, or what we’re paying for to get it.”

Cloud nodded again. It was his turn to subside into silence. He used it to pick all the dried blood off his arm. “So…Reeve?”

“He didn’t remember,” Tifa said after a moment. “He didn’t remember, and we didn’t tell him anything, but he figured out that we hadn’t really stopped anything, that we’d just put it off again. He was upset, he said some things—I already knew them all, but it sounds different when somebody else says them and that somebody isn’t you.”

“Yeah.” Someone was coming down the hall, pointedly setting off wards as they went. Cloud lifted his head, then dropped it and sighed. Lazard.

“I just remembered it, because he remembers this time but somehow it’s the same look in his eyes.” Tifa rested her arms on her knees and let her hands swing. “You ever want to stop? I mean, really stop? Not your passive act, where you’re just going to sit there and be miserable for a century, but actually try something?”

Halfway through that Lazard opened the door. It didn’t seem to bother Tifa so Cloud didn’t make anything of it. “Maybe.” He shrugged off Tifa’s frown. “Don’t know for sure. I was finishing up a fight in the middle of a storm and I think there was this piece of metal coming at my head, and I didn’t duck. And then I was sitting up in a bunch of bloody debris. And nobody else was around who could tell me. I tried to figure it out for a while but once I woke up I didn’t want to actually recreate it, so…”

“I’ve known you for _so many lives_ , Cloud. So many, and still, you do this to me.” Tifa got up, throwing up her hands, and went to the door. She paused, then politely nudged Lazard out of the way.

Lazard jerked sharply, then swallowed down something slum-sounding when he banged his elbow into the door. He pursed his lips, stepping back and rubbing his arm, and then looked at Cloud.

“Reeve thinks he’s come up with a solution,” Lazard said

“Then why are you talking to me about it?” Cloud said.

“Because he promptly collapsed on the table after telling me.” The stare ran in the family, apparently—that cool, clear, unwavering gaze, although Lazard’s version was a good deal less arrogant than Rufus’. “He’s an architect and a hobbyist technophile. He’s not a mage.”

Cloud sighed. “What, is Reno pestering him about remaking that electrorod? I think Reno’s staying with Tifa tonight but I’ll ask her.”

“He’s my friend and I don’t want him to die,” Lazard snapped. “I can understand why you would have the attitude you would, but not all of us are so durable. And—”

“He remembers all the other times he died.” Cloud pulled his feet in. He stopped when Lazard flinched, then, as casually as possible, got up from his chair. “I wasn’t there for all of them, he was. So maybe you should talk to him. And stop that. I’m fucking Rufus, not you.”

Lazard snorted. Of course that would be what relaxed him. Also had to run in the blood. “If we’re going along that line, I’d like to take the time to mention now that Rufus has always been very partial to gloves.”

“You two are always so fucked in the head,” Cloud finally said. “And how did you and Aeris meet?”

“I try to be discreet,” Lazard said. He paused as if to go on, then grimaced and shook his head. “Also, I try not to bargain with my friends as the subject of it. And Reeve is a friend. So was—is Angeal.”

“You think I’m going to try and get them killed?”

Lazard shook his head. “I think you care but you don’t care the way…you care the way your life has taught you. You can’t control that. I’m not asking you to. But I _am_ asking that you try to remember, if you can, that we may care in other ways.”

“I remember,” Cloud said. He looked at him for another second, then strode forward and pushed by without trying to keep clear of Lazard. “I remember you never managed to live long enough, too.”

* * *

Rufus knew about the whole thing, from the way he acted that night, dropping the haughty act and starting right with the desperate pleas. Instead of dragging things out, Cloud switched off with Genesis in making Rufus come as many times as he could, as quickly as possible, and then cradled Rufus’ head in his lap while watching Tseng and Vincent deal with Genesis.

It wasn’t punishment, and maybe Rufus got _that_ , since he didn’t try to explain whatever serpentine bargain he and his brother had worked out to let Lazard have that conversation with Cloud. It was a moot point in the morning, anyway, when Reeve finally woke up and explained that he’d figured out a way to design better wards to funnel magic into a person. He went on to draw diagrams showing how they could install them into a building and then hook it up to a separate chamber where magic was being released, via sources besides Cloud, rambling on about the inverse relationship between voltage and distance and materials for proper shielding and recovering waste magic to make materia.

“Supply list?” Lazard finally interrupted.

Reeve handed it over.

“How long will it take to put together?” Cloud asked.

“Well, from scratch, at least a month. But assuming that we’re all right with using the keep, that actually gets us a good part of the way, so we’d just have to rip down the wards, recalibrate the grounding stones and put up new wards…plus we script out the ward creation ahead of time so we can do it in shifts…” Reeve scribbled frantically, shuffled through the scribbles he’d done yesterday and then threw down his pen “…I think we can get it up in forty-eight hours. If Cloud sheds right before that, in sufficiently close proximity, that should satisfy both of them for long enough.”

“Sheds?” Rufus said.

Reeve nodded. “No sex necessary. Sex allows you to avoid property damage from a surge, but I don’t think that’s much of a concern here. And if the power sinks in Sephiroth and Angeal are even half as strong as I’ve estimated, we shouldn’t need to worry about the surge physically injuring them as it did Genesis.”

“And Cloud being a WEAPON won’t be a problem?” Tifa said. “Because magical overload’s not the only way he can kill them.”

For a moment Reeve stared at her, a strange and strangely familiar expression on his face. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, muttering to himself. He looked…Tifa grimaced, getting it at the same time Cloud did, and then reached over to put her hand on Reeve’s shoulder.

Lazard looked vaguely surprised and alarmed, in equal measures. Then he started to clear his throat.

“Oh, Gaia, Lazard, she’s just a fellow sufferer,” Reeve muttered. He didn’t exactly accept or reject Tifa’s hand. Maybe he didn’t even feel it, with how hard he was pressing on his nose. “Gaia, this is bizarre. No, honestly, Rhapsodos, it’s not a problem remembering who we are and aren’t trying to kill this time. It’s just…if you ever remember, you’ll understand.”

Genesis wasn’t satisfied with that, but he merely threw a last glower at Reeve as he pushed back from the table. He moved to stand behind Cloud’s chair, bracing his hip against the side and fiddling with one of his gloves. “My respect for your composure continues to grow,” he muttered to Cloud.

“No flirting,” Tifa said.

“You’re included in the compliment,” Genesis added carelessly. Then he looked back at the sheets on the table. “Get on with it. We all know what you’re about to say, after all. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been forced to yield to that man.”

“ _Gaia_ , you’re always ridiculous.” Reeve dropped his hand, blinking owlishly. Then he shrugged and began sorting through his notes. “When I said Cloud didn’t have to fuck them, I didn’t also say that there’d be no risk. There’s a risk they won’t be in good enough physical shape, although intelligence suggests otherwise. But there’s a risk they won’t let him fuck them either, and there’s a risk that fucking them just won’t work fast enough. Even with you, your first meeting with Cloud, he had to just throw magic at you to get you to the point where they could suggest an alternative.” 

Rufus moved forward, then sighed as he noticed Lazard tensing. “Honestly, _are_ you sleeping together?” Rufus snapped. “Because the guessing game flatters neither of you.”

“Why is everything about sex here?” Reeve snapped back. He looked round at all of them, then threw up his hands and flopped back in his chair. “No, we’re not, Lazard’s just worried about me because for the first six months after I remembered, I had screaming nightmares and he had to check me into a private clinic.”

Rufus blinked. “Your negotiations with the hermitage in Banora?”

“It was a good cover,” Lazard said, faintly pleased with himself.

“The point is, Cloud, that there’s at least an option to make Sephiroth a general problem, and not just your personal one,” Reeve continued, ignoring them. He picked out three sheets of paper and flicked them irritably across the table. “Take the information and make an informed choice, that’s all we can do. Here’s the plan, here’s the task breakdown, and here’s the schedule. I take it back, I’m not giving you a choice in one respect—I’m not doing this like last time. We _decide_ this time.”

“Nobody said you had to repeat,” Cloud said after a moment. He reached out and picked up the schedule, giving Reeve a moment to catch his breath and calm down and look viciously tired. This time Tifa didn’t put out her hand; Cloud did, reaching across the table and offering back the schedule. “All right. I trust you to run the calculations. Let’s do this.”

Reeve slumped. His body was limp but his smile was almost frantic, in a way that made most of the other people in the room visibly uneasy. They missed the lingering exhaustion under it. “Thanks,” he said. He ran his hand over the top of his head, then let it drop with a jerk. “Gaia. I really hated how that ended.”

“Inside slang,” Tifa said dryly. “Forget it, let’s just get started.”

* * *

They decided to tackle both Angeal and Sephiroth, but not precisely at the same time. Angeal was being held in a location that was friendly for stealth, so for him they opted to try that route; Sephiroth was being kept somewhere that would take weeks just for an initial infiltration, so there they went for a blitz.

Zack was given a careful explanation of both, and chose to go with the team storming Sephiroth’s prison. Which meant he went with Cloud. “I can’t…I wish I could go help with Angeal too, but it’s not like I’ll be real useful,” he said, kicking his heels. “It’s all spell structure. Clumsy shit like me, I’ll trip over something and break a moonstone.”

“They’re tunneling in. That doesn’t really take a lot of finesse.” Cloud was lying on the floor, trying to pretend he wasn’t on the damn airboat that Cid, no matter what the level of technology, always seemed to manage to cobble together. Magic hadn’t done a thing for his airsickness.

“Okay. Okay, look, I get that I’m the newbie, but apparently I also did this gig with you before so what the hell did I do to you?” Zack said. He got off the bench and went over to sit down by Cloud’s head, leaning over so his spiky hair swayed alarmingly in Cloud’s field of vision. “Whatever. I’m sorry, okay?”

“I’m not—” Cloud closed his eyes, then opened them, grimacing “—I’m not mad at you.”

Zack rolled his eyes. “Yeah, pull the other one. You’re not mad the way Seph isn’t mad when he assigns me extra…is it him? Because Tifa mentioned that you two had this epic cross-generation battle going on, and—”

“No, it’s not him.” If Cloud really wanted to, he could get up and leave. And then he’d be trying not to throw up in the public areas of the airboat, where Aeris would be pushing tea on him whenever she wasn’t trying to figure out why Cloud hated Zack. “It stopped being an epic battle a couple lives after we finally got rid of all of Jenova. After that he just started being very confused.”

And that had been…awkward at best, and nearly as bloody and terrible as the first life on a couple occasions. Sephiroth had always been more willful than Jenova anyway, but it’d taken her cells to give him the power to impose his will on others. Without her, he’d had the memories and the…fangs, so to speak, but no venom. So he’d had to inflict a lot more wounds to get to the same level of damage, and instead of having a cause, an identity to ground it, he’d just had the nihilistic drive that he’d been meant for something that no longer existed.

Cloud and Vincent had sort of discussed it, a few times. It’d been infuriating, actually, to a degree that had had Cloud reconsidering his own sanity a few times. Vincent had suggested that maybe it was because Cloud was suffering a similar sense of loss, going into battle after battle even though the initial reason for it was gone. And Cloud had asked, after a long silence, just what Vincent thought Cloud’s initial reason had been.

“Are you mad?” Cloud asked. He watched Zack blink and frown and scratch his head. “Because we didn’t tell you sooner.”

Zack’s shoulders went up and his mouth formed a soundless circle, then collapsed into a thin, straight line. He fidgeted with his clothes. “I don’t know. I mean—” he jerked up and nearly off his feet, then dropped noisily back into place “—fuck, man, Aeris was really worried about that too. She wouldn’t stop talking about it at first, even though she doesn’t remember either. And you know, honestly, you guys are pretty shit at acting for people with so much time on their hands. Tifa’s still watching me like she thinks I’m going to throw a temper tantrum about it.”

Vincent had declined to guess at the time. He’d just said that the exact reason didn’t matter; it just mattered what it had meant to Cloud. And suddenly Cloud missed that moping son of a bitch, a twist in his chest so sharp and so _immediate_ that he instinctively grabbed at his personal wards, afraid that they’d miscalculated. It’d been a long time since he’d tried to make himself shed.

“I get why, mostly. It’s not…not really like you were hiding that you’re my dad or something like that.” Zack flashed a grin, seeing the face Cloud made. Then he straightened up and sobered up. “That stuff, that’s about me. This stuff…it’s not about me. I mean, it’s not like shit from my last life is popping up in this life, if I understand what you’ve been saying—there’s not even any blood relation between the lives, and I gotta say, that’s weird. You’d think it’d just be easier to keep it in the same family. But anyway, it’s not about me except for how you guys remember me that that wasn’t me and that feels like it’s yours and not mine.”

Cloud sat up. He gritted his teeth as a wave of nausea went through him, harsh and vivid before settling into a queasy slosh around his head. “Thanks.”

“You’re…welcome?” Zack said uncertainly. “But to be totally honest with you, that’s what I think but that’s sometimes not what I feel. I don’t remember you, and so far we’ve been on the wrong foot, but I do…I have a stupid little kid in me, okay, and he thinks it would be cool to have had a friendship so awesome that even death couldn’t kill it. And to repeat, I get why you wouldn’t feel the same. There’s no reason you have to like me every time. I just…”

“I like you,” Cloud said, amused even through the motionsickness. And it wasn’t a lie; he had a hard time believing it when it was in front of him, but he always forgot a little bit how simple and easy Zack made things. It just didn’t take any work, liking him. “No, not like that. No one’s making you use the toys.”

Zack looked relieved, and then embarrassed. He scratched at the back of his neck while a flush steadily covered his face. “Nothing wrong with them, man. Aeris even kind of talked me into…nothing wrong with you either. Shit, that’s not it, is it?”

Cloud rolled his eyes. “No. I figured out a while ago that relationships are one life at a time. Which makes it a lot easier, actually.”

“Really?” Zack said. “I would’ve figured the other way around.”

“Reincarnation doesn’t work like that. Not even for Tifa,” Cloud said. “You all end up different, every time. Sure, flashbacks, and I get…nostalgic. But if you try to be like you are in one life the way you were in another, it doesn’t…fit right. You’re _acting_ , and I can tell and it’s hard to ignore.”

“…so it’s really weird for you,” Zack said after a moment, sympathetic but not judging.

Cloud risked a nod. Bad idea. He thought about lying back down, but then the damn airboat rocked as Cid reversed the engine thrust, slowing it. Better to just stay still and hope they got the call soon, Cloud thought.

“But you’re avoiding me for some reason,” Zack said. He poked Cloud’s arm. “I just want it out in the open. I don’t want to go into this fight with this…thing hanging out there. I fight better when I’m not worrying, and Gaia, I’m already—” he laughed bitterly “—fuck, you know, in a weird way I’m glad I can’t see Seph or Ang right off? I don’t know what I’m going to do when I see what’s happened to them.”

“I’m not—okay, I have been,” Cloud muttered. “I’m sorry. I just…don’t have a lot of patience.”

Zack shrugged, then had his arm around Cloud’s shoulders. “Hey, it’s cool. Happens to a lot of us,” he said. He adjusted his arm as another shudder through the airboat made Cloud wince, then settled companionably at Cloud’s side. “No patience for what?”

For Zack’s inability to let something go, Cloud almost said, and then he snorted. “I guess…it’s just been a while since I did it for the world. After Jenova was gone, things got…the scale wasn’t so big.”

“I know four guys who are going to be really mad if that’s why you’re doing it,” Zack said. Not accusing, just stating a fact. “Well, five, actually. Reeve seems really invested in you and Sephiroth not fucking.”

Cloud grimaced.

“I don’t remember jack shit, but I know bullshit when I hear it.” Zack grinned through his sudden blush and ducked head. “Rufus Shinra doesn’t build up a corset collection for charity. And…you know, Gen’s kind of a friend of mine too, even if he hates admitting it. He hasn’t torn your heart out for pitying him—he’s actually maybe the most calm I’ve ever seen him, and considering the situation that’s insane. So seriously.”

“Seriously,” Cloud said dryly. “I wasn’t talking about them. Reeve’s right—it’s not the sex. I was talking about this whole…me being the damn release valve for the world, apparently. Usually it’s just along the lines of, we need to kill so-and-so, then deal with the power vacuum.”

“Oh. That.” Zack shifted around in place, looking at everywhere but Cloud. Then he heaved a sigh and pushed his hand over his face. “Yeah. I don’t think Seph’ll be too thrilled about it either.”

There was a knock on the door, and then Reeve opened it and looked in before Zack could finish turning. His eyebrows lifted, but he just told them that they were nearly in position so Cloud needed to get down to the loading bay.

Rufus was standing behind him, and stayed behind as Reeve and Zack wandered a few feet down the hall. “Cosy,” he said.

Cloud pulled the door shut, then turned. He twisted his hips, angling himself across Rufus’ path as the man went to follow the others, then pressed Rufus back against the wall. He slid his hands up Rufus’ perfectly-pressed suit and dug his fingertips in when he felt the edge of the nipple rings, watching Rufus’ pupils grow, his lips part. “Seriously. And what the hell did you promise Lazard this time, if he’s letting you go around with Reeve?”

“Don’t be crass, Cloud,” Rufus said. His chin lifted but it was more inviting than prideful, stretching his throat, and his voice was a little unsteady. “That was Tifa’s doing. I understand she facilitated a talk between my brother and Reeve before she and Lazard took off to rescue Hewley.”

“And stop dragging me into this…whatever it is,” Reeve said, shaking his head. He came partway back down the hall, bringing a hugely amused Zack with him.

“You can drag me into it,” Zack said, and then looked mildly frantic. “I mean, as an excuse. Not actually—down, Shinra, not going there, I’m good with Aeris and…her, er, rotation.”

Reeve looked between them all, then pinched the bridge of his nose. Cloud stepped back from Rufus, keeping his hands low but prepared to grab Reeve if the man’s mood suddenly changed.

“I wish it was that easy,” Reeve finally muttered. “Gaia, the last time was terrible.”

“I’m sorry,” Cloud said.

“Oh, never mind. Just come on so we can deal with this time,” Reeve said. He turned on his heel and stalked down the hall, still rubbing at his nose.

After a moment, Zack shrugged and went after him. Cloud started forward as well, then slowed as Rufus swung himself off the wall with a rather pointed air.

“What happened?” Rufus asked.

“Ask him,” Cloud said, nodding to the man ahead of him. He sighed at the glower he could feel. “Deaths aren’t mine to tell, unless I really have to, all right? You can ask me anything you want about me, but he should be the one telling you about him.”

“Anything about you,” Rufus repeated, tone even sharper.

They reached the stairwell. Rufus pushed in ahead of Cloud and went down first, his longer legs nearly catching him up to Reeve, who was fending off Zack’s questions about blast radii. He reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed open the door, then stopped. His shoulders dropped a little, and then he turned around, composed as usual.

“That wasn’t what we agreed,” he said. It was an apology.

“You can ask. Maybe I can’t…tell it like you like. I’ve never been a great storyteller,” Cloud said after a moment. He came off the last step. The door was wide enough, but he waited for Rufus, who’d stiffened at his words, to slowly back through the doorway and into the hall. Then he followed. From here he could hear them preparing things in the loading bay, just a few feet away. “I really loved Sephiroth. The first life. A couple ones after. But I’m not sure I ever really liked him. I felt a hell of a lot of things about him, but that one, I don’t think so.”

Rufus let out a sharp, short exhale that at first sounded like a curse. He made an aborted movement towards Cloud, then swiveled so Cloud’s path to the loading bay was clear.

“I maintain that you have a terrible way with reassurances,” Rufus said. “Try not to look like too much of a mess when we come after you, Strife. Tseng will be too busy with the wards to manage Genesis for you—I still don’t see why you let Tifa take Vincent with her, on that point.”

“Because she said she could use him more. She does the strategy for a reason,” Cloud said. He paused a second longer, then went past the other man. “See you.”

“Hopefully,” Rufus muttered.

* * *

Blitz. They flew over the facility with Tseng wrapping the airboat in cloaking spells, dropped Cloud out the loading hatch, and then climbed as fast as Cid could make the airboat go.

Cloud couldn’t shed right then. The point was to make sure Sephiroth didn’t die from accidental crushing. So he threw out a cushioning spell, landed on the roof and then pulled out the first of his swords.

It actually would have helped if Vincent had come. With the wings, he probably could fly himself out of range in time, once they had killed all the damn guards—and there were an awful lot, even if Shinra seemed to be going for quantity over quality. The few mages were noncombatants, judging from the sloppiness of their shielding on the backlash, though that didn’t stop them from going at him, screaming about how everything was destabilizing.

Well, on second thought, better safe than sorry—even Vincent couldn’t fly from three levels underground, and it was a bad idea to put a gate anywhere around Cloud when he was shedding. Cloud yanked his sword out of a body, flung it at a rushing guard, and pulled out another just in time to jam it between the closing doors. He cleared the hallway with a well-placed icestorm, then pried open the doors and jogged down yet another set of stairs. 

This floor had triple the shielding, plus the first three rooms Cloud passed were for materia storage. He figured they’d probably keep the raw supplies nearby in case of a spike in the draining rate, so he had to be close.

The next door was thick lead. Cloud melted it, stepped inside, and couldn’t help a gasp at the sheer _pull_. His own power ratcheted up wildly and for a second he could feel his bones shifting. He stumbled against the wall, barely avoiding the still-hot remains of the door, and then straightened up, forcing himself to keep shape, to hold it.

Two wide green eyes were staring at him through thick lead bars. “Cloud-san!” Kadaj chirped.

“Seriously?” Cloud mumbled.

“Seriously!” Kadaj looked terrible, his hair matted and ragged, naked body rail-thin and bruised all over, but he was beaming, his hands slapping wildly at the bars. “You came! I knew it, I told them, I told them you always come! Didn’t I, brothers?”

There were three cages. Loz and a lump that had to be Yazoo were in the left one, Kadaj was bouncing like a hyperactive kitten in the center one, and Sephiroth was on the right. Loz and Yazoo were unconscious. Sephiroth wasn’t, but he was trembling with the effort of holding his head where he could see Cloud. They’d wrapped him in lead chains and he wasn’t in any better condition than the other three.

“Who are you?” he said. Pained, exhausted, but still clearly thinking.

Sane, Cloud thought reflexively, and then reminded himself that that was really just not world-destroying. They’d see about the minor points later.

“Okay. Four. Reeve didn’t calculate that, but just means that the drain is…oh, damn it, I can’t wait that long,” Cloud muttered to himself. The stab of pain in his abdomen nearly made him double over, but he managed to turn the momentum into a couple steps forward.

The whole shedding thing was getting out of his control, and he couldn’t do it underground. Didn’t know if he could remember about support beams and so forth; he used the keep partly because it was big enough that he didn’t have to remember about them.

Sephiroth was asking something. Cloud ignored him and dragged himself up to Kadaj’s cage first. The lead was soaked in weird magic, polarities all the wrong way and everything, probably to keep it from being dragged into the sinks, but—not what Cloud really cared about, even when he wasn’t fighting off the whole damn planet. He put his swords away and reached up and tore the wards open, then let go.

Kadaj’s eyes went even wider. He staggered to the back of the cage as the magic hit him and instantly soaked in, his arms going around his belly. “Wow, Cloud-san,” he said drunkenly. “Aren’t you supposed to kill me?”

“That’s just every other life, and I wouldn’t do it if you’d just sit still long enough to—” babbling, Cloud thought with faint embarrassment, but it helped him push away the clawing in his blood “—calm down—figure out you’re a person—”

“I know, I know, we don’t listen to Mother anymore,” Kadaj said. He swayed, watching Cloud haphazardly melt down the front bars. “But she was very loud, and when she was gone it was very quiet, and both hurt.”

“Yeah. Know.” The middle of the bars finally gave way and Cloud barely kept himself from being impaled on them, dropping to his knees just in front of them. He snarled and grabbed at his belly, his thigh, wherever it felt like his skin was hardening. His nails raked through his clothes and he felt blood welling up—good, wasn’t that far along. “Look, don’t want to kill you, outside, I need room. I’ve got—I’ve got enough magic.”

Kadaj blinked. Then he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled forward, his movements eerily fluid. He peered into Cloud’s face, then nodded sharply. “Okay. I’ll get…” he frowned, then looked off to the right. “It’s okay, big brother! He’s helping. He always saves people. Not me, not you, but I don’t know, this life is very strange. Maybe it’s our turn.”

“What’s going on?” Sephiroth snapped.

Cloud turned his head. Sephiroth tensed and then there was a whisper of movement over Cloud’s back—Kadaj leapfrogging him on the way to Loz and Yazoo’s cage. And Sephiroth relaxed and Cloud realized the man had been worried about what he’d do to Kadaj. Which had never come up before.

The triplets hadn’t come up in any of their spying and Tifa was going to be mad about that, Cloud absently thought. He twisted around, saw Kadaj dealing with the cage wards by just pressing himself up to the bars—wards were unidirectional, not protected if attacked from that direction, stupid—and then turned back and went over to Sephiroth’s cage. His arm spasmed and Sephiroth looked down and then sharply up.

“What _are_ you?” Sephiroth said.

“Opposite,” Cloud shrugged. He tried not to laugh. His head was getting—he always got hazy. It wasn’t just the pain; it was something about the magic going through him, not just using him as a channel but also, kind of, drowning him for a little bit. Maybe the closest he ever could get to merging with the Lifestream without dying. “I can flood you with more magic than even you can take. Won’t last, but we’ll build another cage while you’re out.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed. He was trembling in his chains, but he held himself in place.

“Yeah. Better than this one, and I think eventually we’ll make it kind of mobile, but a cage,” Cloud said. He grabbed at his thigh, the flesh swelling into hard, bony plates that just blocked the talons going through his trousers. “But upstairs. I get bigger. The place is going to come down.”

“Up, up, up!” Kadaj was yelling at his co-triplets. “Cloud-san’s here!”

“I know you,” Sephiroth said after a moment. “I don’t quite understand…but Kadaj seems to.”

Cloud shrugged again. “I have never, ever understood him.”

His leg flexed, the joint suddenly bending the wrong way, because it was _made_ that way. And then it wasn’t and Cloud was on his knees and in pain and Sephiroth was over him and looking down and this _never_ got—

—small hands were touching his back, poking his arm. “Cloud-san?” Kadaj said. “Are you…are you fighting again?”

“No idea,” Cloud muttered.

“Kadaj,” Sephiroth suddenly said. “The wards. Get me out.”

“No, just get your brothers and get going.” Cloud put his hands down. He got back onto his feet, then grabbed onto the nearest bar and wrenched the wards.

No finesse there. But even with all the lead in the room, Sephiroth’s appetite couldn’t be held back. The wards seized, then were dragged into the man as he let out a surprised, choking cry. He fell against the bars, his hand slipping through to catch on Cloud’s arm, and then stared blindly upward.

Cloud’s head cleared a little, and his bones fought him less over keeping human shape. He collected himself enough to use the reprieve, grabbing a handful of Sephiroth’s chains and then swinging him to the side so there was room to deal with the bars. Once he’d dragged Sephiroth out of the cage, he opened up Loz and Yazoo’s and helped Kadaj get them out. Loz was awake and able to walk, but Yazoo would have to be carried.

He left Yazoo to the other triplets and went back to Sephiroth, who’d recovered enough to wrench at the chains. The man still had enough sheer physical strength to break a few of the locks. Cloud considered the rest, decided there wasn’t enough time, and looked up at the ceiling. He could already feel the plates crawling back over his skin.

He didn’t use gates when he shed because they didn’t want to find out what happened when a gate fell apart before you got through to the other side. But—three floors underground. Damn it.

He made a gate. Sephiroth and the triplets went through, and the gate held long enough for Cloud to see them collapsing on the grass outside of the facility. Then it collapsed and he blew up and out, cracking through the building’s floors like so many eggshells. The night sky whirled above him, not black but a riot of colors, all the magic in the world dancing across it for him. He could feel—could feel—

For once it wasn’t just all pain. It was like…he stretched from horizon to horizon, seeing everything, hearing and smelling and touching everything, and there was an edge of pain, a constant twisting where he knew, dimly, that his skin did not fit, that this was not him but something trying to press him into service, make him useful, but it kept getting drawn off. Like an overflowing glass. 

The pull there was slight but insistent, eventually drawing his attention. He coiled his body against the ground, absently noting the way his wings furled against his back, and then—looked down—down—why was it so far down—and the hurt suddenly jumped, pushing back at him, like water backing up behind a dam—and then it was the same as always.

* * *

Sephiroth was looking at him. Cloud grunted and twisted over his bed of materia, momentarily confused about why it was softer than usual. 

The grass under it was a lot more forgiving than stone. Right. He twisted again, getting onto his belly, his arms under him, and Sephiroth turned his head and stared up at the sky. The other man was lying a good few yards away; his skin had a noticeably healthier flush but that just seemed to emphasize the dirt and cuts and bruises. Just beyond him Cloud could make out a few other bodies, probably the triplets.

Cloud settled back where he was. He could get up if he needed to. He didn’t want to, nobody was making him, so he didn’t.


	4. Chapter 4

About the triplets, all Sephiroth would say was that they had met after he’d been brought to the facility. He had taken the arrival of the others and the subsequent flurry of activity with surprising equanimity, even when they’d put a seal on his sword hand. Zack had thrown a fit about it, and Genesis had thrown one right back, and it probably would have devolved into a physical fight if Sephiroth hadn’t asked Zack to stop.

“Zack doesn’t understand,” Kadaj said sympathetically. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, holding on with both hands and kicking his legs. He looked around the keep’s great hall with wide, admiring eyes, then grinned and flopped over onto the cushions, pulling up his knees. “He’s silly, he knows big brother likes his sword. Why would big brother want it to get eaten by the hole in his belly?”

“Magical mechanics were never Fair’s strong point.” Genesis stalked back across the room and threw himself into the other side of Cloud’s loveseat. He sank until his head bumped roughly into Cloud’s shoulder. “Where is your damned brother, anyway? It’s been a trying twenty-four hours and we’ve earned a rest, but I would prefer if we didn’t wake to him pulling the place down around our ears.”

Kadaj giggled. “He missed you too.”

Cloud stifled a sigh and slid his hand under Genesis’ thigh. Part of the man’s coat had fallen over Cloud’s lap, providing a convenient cover; Genesis stilled for a second, then stretched himself as if Cloud’s fingertips hadn’t just nudged the plug in his hole.

The shedding had only lasted for about two hours, a fact that still had Reeve pondering adjustments to his calculations, but it’d been another three before they’d gotten back to Nibelheim. None of the guards at the facility had survived, but there’d been some troops stationed only ten miles away and they’d seen the show WEAPON Cloud had put on and had investigated. It’d delayed pick-up: the airboat crew had intercepted and had demolished them so thoroughly that Rufus didn’t even think they needed to worry about a declaration of war. He believed that his father wouldn’t credit him or Lazard with such firepower.

Still, he and Aeris were busy with post-battle politicking, and Tseng had been too worn-out from handling the brunt of the spellwork, since Genesis still couldn’t manage any spell more complex than a Curaga. He could control his rapier’s summoning well enough now to do it without Cloud’s constant presence, and had seemed content enough with the chance to finally unleash it in a fight. But once they’d gotten back to Nibelheim, he’d been increasingly fidgety company.

“Really,” he was drawling to Kadaj. “And did he tell you why he missed me?”

Kadaj was now playing in the kimono they’d given him, flipping the over-long sleeves around and batting at the sash. He wore it over a pair of pajama pants, and neither garment really hid how horribly thin he was. “He said you were really stuck-up and nasty, and you always use three spells when you could just fix your stance.”

He was not looking at Genesis, which was just as well since if looks could kill. Genesis barely acknowledged the squeeze Cloud gave his buttock. He did huff a bit when Cloud slid his hand up and hooked his fingers into the back of his trousers, but still looked angry enough for Cloud to contemplate grabbing his wrist. It’d just make for a bigger fight later, since setting off the sealing ward on Genesis’ hand wasn’t going to help with the teasing about the mage he’d used to be, but Cloud had gone through too much trouble to let Kadaj die now.

“He also said he really wished he’d gone for Heidegger when you said,” Kadaj said. Now he looked up, just in time for Genesis to blink sharply. “Hmm?”

“Where on earth did he find you?” Genesis finally said.

“He didn’t find us.” Kadaj abandoned the kimono for a pastry from the platter in front of the sofa. It was clearly hard for him, but he tore it into small pieces and ate them one by one, painstakingly measuring out three seconds between bites like Aeris had told him. “They made us from him. The one alchemist said if you make more bodies then it should get spread out and not as bad, and Hojo said that that was what he’d done with you and the other man. But they made him get us out of the closet anyway, and then they took us to big brother and he woke us up.”

“Kadaj,” Sephiroth said sharply, finally coming into the hall.

They’d rigged up a bathing area in one of the antechambers and he’d made extensive use of it, judging from the number of raw pink patches on his skin. His hair was twisted up into a lopsided knot that hung over his left shoulder, the ends looking as if he’d cut sections short here and there. He hadn’t gone for one of the kimonos, but instead had on a black shirt and trousers, which hung limply off his shoulders and hips.

The clothes had come from Sephiroth’s place in Midgar, courtesy of Zack’s burglary skills. So he’d lost a hell of a lot of muscle mass.

“There you are.” Genesis uncoiled himself from the loveseat and stood up. He pushed his coat down over his legs, his fingers scratching the leather with their impatience, and his gaze flicked repeatedly over Sephiroth. “Still letting us kick our heels, I see.”

Sephiroth looked steadily back, but his face was visibly struggling to settle on an emotion. Amusement, irritation, a strangely stiff relief, they all appeared at some point. And the fact that he was showing anything at all was telling itself. “I didn’t know you’d wait for me,” he said. His lips pressed tightly together right afterward, while Genesis inhaled sharply, his back tensing. “Genesis. It’s…”

“How’s Loz and Yazoo?” Cloud asked.

“They’re still in the shower,” Sephiroth said. He’d looked over immediately, but it’d taken a second longer before he answered. He hesitated, then moved slowly and gingerly to sit on the couch by Kadaj. His mouth thinned when Kadaj grabbed his hand and then curled over it like a giant cat. He held that arm like it’d frozen at that awkward angle, but gestured fluidly enough with the other. “Did we have something to discuss?”

Genesis made a low, irritable sound. Sephiroth looked at him, then slowly back at Cloud. Then at Genesis again, as he turned sharply on his heel and made for the door.

“I just wanted to let you know, we talked and we have to push back going for Hewley by a day, but it’s probably not going to be more than that,” Cloud said. He looked over his shoulder, then got up when Genesis didn’t add anything.

“I’m not going,” Sephiroth said, his brows lifting a little. “I…do agree that I’d be more of a liability than an asset.”

Cloud shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, then pulled one out. He dug the heel of his boot into the stone floor. “What, was that an argument at some point?”

Sephiroth’s eyes moved slightly, not quite enough to actually look over Cloud’s shoulder, but enough for him to look oddly defensive when he realized he’d been caught at it.

“Oh. Look, whatever you two are going on about, I have no idea,” Cloud said. He took a step to the side, then around the chair. “So—”

“G’night, Cloud-brother,” Kadaj murmured sleepily.

Cloud’s boot scraped roughly over the floor. It wasn’t a trip but the force of it did run all the way up to his hip, reminding him that one quick blowjob on the airboat wasn’t nearly the after-serving he’d gotten used to. “We’re not, just so you know. He just—look, we’ll talk about it later.”

“Man, why am I always walking in on that one? I always miss the good stuff,” Zack complained. He strode in, loaded with trays of food and drink, and cheerfully hijacked the conversation.

Sephiroth was still looking at Cloud, but Cloud was fine with dodging around Zack and making his escape anyway. He caught up with Genesis, who was leaning against the doorway with arms crossed, and then ignored that one’s barbed comments as they made their way back into Aeris’ house.

Genesis actually laid off the complaints fairly quickly, although Cloud didn’t put that together until he’d stepped into his bedroom and wondered why it was so quiet. He paused, then started at the sound of the door closing.

Tseng looked up from the bed, then put his head back down. He’d taken off his belt and socks and shoes, but otherwise was still wearing the same suit they’d left in, streaks of ash and crystallized spell backlash and all. He grunted reluctantly when Cloud tugged up his arms, pulling off his jacket, but then rolled over to make room, crowding himself up against the pillows as Genesis, sans coat, dropped down on his back with a much more tired sigh than Cloud had been expecting.

“Sephiroth tends to make me forget mere bodily needs,” Genesis drawled, seeing Cloud’s face. It wasn’t a compliment, but there was a fair amount of grudging affection in his voice. “Damn it. He’s been here all of two hours and already all the talk is of him.”

“Well, your fault for not shutting up.” Cloud sat down on the bed and began pulling at his boots.

Genesis turned over onto his side. He looked up at Cloud, then grimaced and let his head press into the bed. “You really should have fucked me,” he said, his hands making small, frustrated scratches at the sheets. “The plug is a promise neither of us is likely to live up to tonight.”

“Fucked you when,” Tseng muttered. “When the airboat crashed? I have a headache as it is from shielding you two. That, and much respect for the work put in the wards here.”

Cloud laughed. Both men looked a little concerned and Cloud laughed again—Tifa would’ve gotten that one—then kicked off his boots and sat back, his hands loosely clasped between his knees. “You don’t need to be fucked,” he said to Genesis. “You just aren’t coming for another two hours.”

Genesis stared at him, pupils gradually widening with almost visible effort. Then the man closed his eyes and groaned. “Damn you.”

“Maybe I should gag you,” Cloud said. He pushed himself backward across the bed, till he was propped up against the headboard. Before he even reached out Tseng was nestling up against his hip, sighing as Cloud slipped seals over the man’s powers. He did lift his hand towards Genesis, and, after a halfhearted snort of disbelief, Genesis pulled himself over to let his chin rest on Cloud’s palm. Cloud tugged him closer, then settled Genesis’ head against his thigh. “Where’s Rufus?”

“Arguing with Lazard,” Tseng said. He sounded more than halfway to sleep. “Hewley’s going to be more conventional, might as well use that. But Lazard’s not ready to storm Midgar.”

“Oh,” Cloud finally said. He shifted against the pillows, then made himself stop. He should’ve gotten a book before getting on the bed. If he wanted one now, he’d have to get up and he was too damn tired for that. But the aftershocks were going to keep him up for a while yet, working their way out the hard, slow way.

Something brushed against his trousers and he looked down. Genesis looked back, eyes heavy-lidded with fatigue, and then continued working at Cloud’s fly. He got it down and drew out Cloud’s cock, moving slowly and with a faint sloppiness. His eyes closed completely when Cloud slid his fingers into the man’s hair. He breathed in deeply, then propped his head on Cloud’s thigh and put his mouth around the head of Cloud’s cock.

Genesis inched his mouth up, lazily persistent. He wasn’t doing more than that, just easing the cock through his mouth and towards the back of his throat, and he stopped when, to go any further, he would have had to make an effort to relax enough to accommodate it. A speculative curl of lust sparked in Cloud’s belly, but remained largely alone, gradually falling into a constant, purring warmth. He moved his hand down to the back of Genesis’ neck, leaving a few fingers tangled in the man’s hair, and a similar contentment came through in the way Genesis went slack and still under his palm. Better than a placeholder, Cloud thought, and he put his head back on the pillows and forgot about the book.

* * *

Once he’d gotten some rest, he looked into Tseng’s comment about storming Midgar and promptly wished he hadn’t. It turned out Rufus and Lazard were having a three-way argument over scrying mirrors, with Tifa firmly on Rufus’ side. Since Lazard and Tifa were working together to free Hewley, and Rufus was back in Nibelheim trying to coordinate a troop build-up among the northern alliance, it made things…awkward.

“Though, for the last time, it’s not delaying progress,” Reeve said, his head in his hands. He nudged at a stray pen with one elbow. “Everyone is being quite professional under the circumstances, Zack.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll let the higher-ups work it out,” Zack huffed. “I was just saying.”

Reeve moved his arms so he could lay his head directly on the table and clasp his hands over it. “Then say it to Lazard.”

They were sitting in the great hall, since one, Sephiroth very much wanted to be brought up to speed on Reeve’s proposed magical redistribution system and two, Reeve had run out of space in his room to tack up diagrams. The huge space still dwarfed the few pieces of furniture in it, but it was actually starting to look lived-in. Cloud wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d never felt possessive of the keep, aside from needing to make sure nobody walked in on him shedding by accident, but he’d used it for a very long time, for other things.

“…grumpy, considering he’s your friend,” Zack was saying. “And he’s a good guy. He just doesn’t want more people hurt than we have to.”

“Believe me, this is peanuts compared to some of the casualty counts we’ve had,” Reeve muttered. He rubbed at his temples, then scratched at his mouth. Then he let his hand drop loudly on the table, sparking a distant yelp, and sighed. “I know I’m being a poor friend to him, Zack. But they need to kill their father soon or this is all going to become infinitely more difficult. We need Midgar, and Lazard should know by this point that it’ll be him taking it and not Rufus.”

Zack stared at Reeve for a moment. He looked up briefly when Kadaj bounced up to the table, then went back to staring at Reeve. “Well, um, how is he supposed to know that? Because last I checked, Rufus Shinra was crazy ambitious and killing all challengers to the throne. Sorry, Cloud. I know you and he are—”

“That’s the point,” Reeve said, lifting his head. He glanced at the papers scattered under him, then pushed one in front. Then he picked up his pen and pulled over an abacus. “Rufus isn’t going to leave Cloud. Northern alliance. You can’t centralize everything, that’s why we’re establishing multiple sinks.”

“I just—what—okay, for Gaia’s sake. I call inside slang.” Zack kicked his legs straight out in front of him, then looked at Cloud. “What is he talking about? Can someone tell me?”

“Shhh, he’s working.” Kadaj gazed at them with wide, eerily guileless eyes. Then he looked down. He frowned and leaned forward, putting all his weight on his hands, which had gripped Reeve’s shoulders at some point. Not that he had fattened up in the couple days that had passed, but he pushed down hard enough for Reeve to blink hard and then shudder. “You’re being very stupid, Zack. You should talk to big brother more.”

Zack appeared to be torn between being appalled and being insulted. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then abruptly got up, muttering about liking Loz and Yazoo better.

“They’re still asleep,” Kadaj frowned. Then he darted around the table and latched onto Zack’s arm, beaming up at the other man. “Come! Come! Let’s find big brother, he’s probably trying to kill the red one now.”

He dragged Zack off, despite much genuine, real struggling on Zack’s part. Still the strongest of the three, despite his poor condition. Cloud thought about rescuing Zack, then calculated how long it’d been since Genesis and Sephiroth had excused themselves and decided to leave it.

“Are you all right?” Reeve said.

Cloud started. “Wait, you’re asking me?”

“Yes, Cloud, I’m asking you.” Reeve put down his pen. He didn’t look aggravated now, just tired. The same tired Tifa wore sometimes, stepping on yet another battlefield, the same tired Cloud felt late at night, when he’d wake but not-wake and feel all the needy plucks at his power but not see a thing, his eyes not yet cleared. “Are you all right?”

Zack and Kadaj disappeared into the far end of the hall, maybe into one of the antechambers. Maybe even outside—there was a door, though most of the time Cloud kept it tightly locked. It opened out onto the path up to the cavern where the old reactor had been. Sephiroth wasn’t supposed to go out, had had it explained thoroughly to him that the wards wouldn’t stretch so far, that he needed to stay _in_ so he could draw off them instead of sucking the magic out of the whole countryside. He’d seemed to listen at the time, grave and still.

“If you’re worried about your plans,” Cloud started. He straightened up when Sephiroth and Genesis appeared, followed by a gleeful Kadaj. Zack came out a second later, looking exasperated and carrying something under his arm—a bundle of cloth. Possibly a kimono. Kadaj had been wearing one and now he wasn’t, and as he got closer Cloud could see green streaks on his shoulders. “I’m fine with them.”

“I got used to the memories being terrible, not to them,” Reeve said slowly. “And it’s been even longer for you, and for Tifa.”

“And we’ve all figured out how to get on with it,” Cloud snapped. He started to get up, then sat back. “Damn it, Reeve. What do you want me to say? It sucks when your body isn’t yours? I knew better? You asked—”

“I asked you to, and you did what I asked you, and you do what they ask you now,” Reeve said. He marked his pause with a sharp tap of the pen, then bent over the table and began fiddling with the abacus. “I’m not qualified to protect you, Gaia forbid. But I just want you to understand that I mean it when I say you don’t have to, with Sephiroth. If there’s one thing I can give you this time, there’s that.”

Cloud slewed around and looked at him, then jerked out of the chair and onto his feet just as Genesis pulled up short. Sephiroth wasn’t any slower in seeing the tension, though it was faintly comical how he absently swayed back from Kadaj sliding into his side, his eyes fixed on Cloud.

Life was just nothing but a comedy some days. “You’re a shitty friend, Reeve,” Cloud finally muttered. 

Genesis gave Reeve a sharp look, but made his way over to Cloud. He stood very close, their hips almost touching, his body facing the opposite direction and almost in line with Cloud’s, so when he turned his head his chin was directly over Cloud’s shoulder. “You still owe me a promise or two,” he said softly. “And I do believe that Sephiroth and I have settled our matter for the day.”

Sephiroth was still staring at Cloud, and Gaia knew what Zack was doing. Cloud turned away, then stopped as his hand brushed up against Genesis’ coat. He twisted his fingers in the belt, then stepped back.

“Yeah. See you at lunch,” Cloud said to the others.

* * *

One last time, Cloud thrust up into the other man. He rocked up on his toes, then stumbled, his full weight pressing down on Genesis. He dropped his face into the crook of Genesis’ neck, breathing harshly.

Genesis whimpered and bucked feebly, pulling at his bonds. His skirts whispered around them, swirling up a draft that at first felt good over hot skin, but then got increasingly clammy.

Cloud reluctantly slid his cock out of the other man. He worked shakily backwards till he found the stool, then leaned against it as he pulled up his trousers. He left them over his hips but with the fly undone, and just looked for a little bit.

They were in one of the upper rooms of the tower, one with a handy pillar in the middle, and Genesis was wearing a dress. Strapless red satin, with a corset top that cinched prettily around his waist and a full, ankle-length skirt that billowed out even now, even with come smeared over its shine. It had a slit in front and a slit in back so the folds naturally parted away from Genesis’ legs. At the moment, the slits revealed slicks down Genesis’ thighs, a wet spot on the corset where the head of his cock had been rubbing.

Genesis moaned again, pulling at his arms. They’d been tied back around the pillar, the free ends of the rope dancing against his skirt as he struggled. He stopped when Cloud got up, but started up again when Cloud walked back behind him, ignoring his spread, trembling legs.

Cloud ran his hands up and down Genesis’ arms a few times, feeling the strained muscles there. He gripped them briefly at the biceps and wrists, over the rope wound around those places, then brushed his fingers against Genesis’ clutching hands. Then he bent down and picked up the ropes dangling from the bound wrists. He pulled first one, then the other around the front, sliding them through the rings on the leather cuffs encircling Genesis thighs. Bringing them back, tying them, and pulling them forward again to knot the ends on the rings for Genesis’ ankle cuffs.

Then he walked back around the front. Genesis was slumped against the pillar, held up mostly by the ropes. He whined and twisted as Cloud tugged at his skirt, freeing a fold there, smoothing one here, letting the heavy satin tease against his thighs. Cloud touched some of the come on Genesis’ leg, leaning forward to lick gently at the man’s slack, open mouth. 

He wiped it off on Genesis’ long throat, rubbing his fingers down the offered curve. Then he put both hands between Genesis’ legs. He rubbed his thumbs over the silk rope binding the man’s scrotum, tugging it so it deepened the cleft between each testicle, then soothing the sore flesh. His fingers wandered up to the leather sheath wrapped around Genesis’ cock, so tightly that the cock hung limply despite Genesis’ frantic, heated noises. He slid his thumb up and down the lacing on the underside, pulled at the knot at the base, and then back up to roll through the precum constantly welling up at the slit.

“Well, fucked you another time. That makes what, three?” Cloud put one hand back and delicately circled Genesis’ hole with his finger, till Genesis was making quiet, choked sounds. “I should go down. Make sure people know you’re fine, just working on your control again.”

Genesis shook his head, trying to say something, mostly just whimpering. He pressed up against Cloud the little he was able.

“No, that is what you want,” Cloud said. He moved in closer, so his knees were pushing up into Genesis’ legs. He pinched the knot of the cock sheath laces, holding it taut while he slowly unraveled it. “You want me to leave you here again, all tied up, your legs wide open for anybody to use. You want that. Especially with Sephiroth here, you want _him_ to see. Just walk in and see you, his great rival, just spread out and—”

“—yours,” Genesis choked. “Yours, all yours, left here, oh, Gaia, left but _yours_. Your fuck, your come, all over me and he’ll _know_ —”

Cloud had gone still when Genesis had started in on it. Then he’d hissed and pushed forward, his hand closing over the sheath. He pumped his fingers once, realized—his mouth smashed viciously down on Genesis, keeping him quiet—he hadn’t fully undone the knot and just got fed up and opened it with magic. The laces snapped all the way up the sheath, stinging flicks against his palm, and then the leather was off and he had Genesis’ cock in his hand, working it, making the man come so hard his eyes rolled back in his head.

He let Genesis hang in the ropes for a bit. Which Genesis didn’t notice, really, but Cloud was annoyed when he finally caught himself. He hesitated again when, the ropes loosening, Genesis curled himself over Cloud and sighed. Then he pushed it away and got the other man down to the ground.

“No,” Genesis said, nuzzling Cloud’s neck. “No, wait.”

Cloud let go of Genesis’ wrists. He sat back, watching the other man, then got down on his back, propped up on his elbows, as Genesis shakily crawled astride him. A little of Genesis’ usual hauteur returned as he fussily swept the skirts out of the way, careful that they weren’t trapped under his legs or under Cloud. Then he knelt, his ass nestling down on top of Cloud’s softened cock.

“Good,” Genesis said. He lifted one arm, considered the rope still hanging from his wrist, and then put his arms back behind him.

Cloud sighed, but pushed himself up just enough to tie Genesis’ wrists behind him. He brought the ends of the rope back around as he laid down again, idly tugging at them. “When Tseng finally stops sleeping I’m going to put a leash on him, tie it to your waist and just lock you two somewhere.”

“Ask for Reno or Vincent back from Tifa. She can’t have both of them all the time,” was Genesis’ arch response. He swayed above Cloud, letting the ropes pull him this way and that, then rolled his hips. He stopped, hissing slowly, and then pushed his ass down again. “Mmm. Hurts. Fuck me again.”

“What I was talking about,” Cloud said, but he could feel some interest stirring in his groin. He folded the ropes over each other, then pulled so they crossed against Genesis’ waist. “You really don’t need to be fucked this often.”

Genesis glanced at him, then looked again, more closely. He stopped rubbing his ass over Cloud. “Obviously, I could just sit in the keep with Sephiroth, and babysit those absurd siblings of his, or whatever the family relation is,” he said. He tilted his head, then sighed and bent pliantly to stretch out over Cloud’s chest. His mouth moved against Cloud’s throat for a moment, then retreated. “I’m not, and it has nothing to do with him being there.”

“I can’t believe you and Rufus can move like that,” Cloud muttered. “I always moved like a stick of wood.”

“So it’s not nostalgia, then.” Genesis snorted, amused. He nosed at Cloud’s throat. “You just like how we look in them.”

Cloud shrugged. “Yeah.”

“I like how you fuck me,” Genesis said after a moment, entirely serious. “I like…I like kneeling for you. I like giving you my body, I like giving you my power. And is this connected to how we met, and does this also serve another purpose? Yes to both. But I continue to be the one to choose.”

He bowed himself back upright, with slightly more effort than it’d taken going down. His cheeks were flushed, and over them, his eyes were warm with lust but also…he was offended. Not at Cloud, for Cloud.

“I’d like you to fuck me,” he went on. “You don’t have to. You can make me go sit with Sephiroth, if you’d like.”

“Well, you’re not really the same thing,” Cloud finally said. He sat up and kissed Genesis, curling his hand around the back of the man’s head. Soft, careful of tender lips—bruised on both sides—and Genesis reciprocated without any impatience, without anything except a long, contented sigh.

He caught Cloud’s lip when they parted, sucking it briefly, and then leaned back. “No, I suppose not.” Genesis tipped his head and kissed Cloud’s cheek. “It’s one thing for you to fuck me in a dress, another for Sephiroth to watch you fuck me in a dress.”

Cloud stared.

“He just saw us go up,” Genesis sighed. He had stiffened, his knees pushing into Cloud’s legs. “He didn’t follow, the wards would’ve picked that up, you would’ve noticed. But he stopped and watched for a second and that’s his decision. And you can ask him about it or pretend it never happened and that’s yours, and neither of those have anything to do about Tuesti’s gods-damned system. He’s a fool if he thinks everything comes down to engineering.”

“That was the point he was making, you know,” Cloud finally said. He ran his hand along Genesis’ bare shoulder and watched him sag minutely, watched the way the lust unknotted in his eyes and chased out the worry. “He’s just—we kind of fucked up, last time. I guess he feels bad about it.”

“So do you, despite constantly saying this life is what matters,” Genesis said.

Cloud was annoyed, and then he wasn’t. He shrugged and caressed Genesis’ shoulder again, then picked up the ropes. Genesis looked like he was going to keep talking, but then he closed his eyes. He lowered his head, breathing slow and quiet, as Cloud knotted the rope against his waist, wrapped it back and around his wrists again, then brought it forward. Knotted it, led it along his groin and then tightly around the base of his cock. It was rougher than the silk still binding his scrotum, and his cock was sore and sensitive from the sheath; he hitched a few times, squirming, biting back the occasional moan.

“You’re not much of a friend either,” Cloud said. He let go of the rope and slid his hands under Genesis’ thighs, lifting him just enough to work Cloud’s half-hardened cock back into his hole. “Bet you would’ve made it a show if Sephiroth had walked all the way up the stairs, looked in here. You would’ve arched your back and showed off your open hole.”

“I care about him.” Genesis stifled a groan as Cloud’s cock continued to stiffen in him. “I see no shame in admitting it. I care that he is allowed to reach—please—his full potential. Shinra wasted—wasted him. And he’s—some blame lies at Hojo’s door, some at Shinra’s, but he—he never has _tried_ as much as he could. He missed me because no one else would tell him that.”

Cloud finished tying the blindfold over Genesis’ eyes, then lifted the ropes again. There was still enough to pull back and knot the ends to the cuffs on Genesis’ ankles, holding him firmly on his knees. And when he moved, trying to fuck himself, the ropes jerked at his cock. He cried out, body taut and quivering, and then subsided with a frustrated moan.

“See, this is why Reeve thinks it all comes back to sex,” Cloud said. He laid down and looked around, then pulled his bag over to him and took out a candle. Then he pushed himself back up—Genesis shuddered, twisting against the rope—and began pushing at Genesis’ skirt, making sure to rub the satin against the man’s buttocks. “Yeah, you care. I believe that. I also believe you really like the idea of him seeing something you got first.”

He pressed the end of the candle against Genesis’ ass, then the length of it, so Genesis could figure out what it was. Then he put the end back down, wick up. Genesis bit his lip and his magic pushed tentatively at Cloud’s wards, twining into Cloud’s magic. The drain in him sucked a bit but Cloud pushed enough magic down to quiet it, and then Genesis hissed and the candle lit.

“Don’t know if I _like_ it,” Cloud said. He tipped the candle just as Genesis drew up tensely, spilling melted wax across Genesis’ buttock. Then he bent and caught Genesis’ mouth mid-cry, licking his way back out. He dripped more wax, drawing a half-circle, and then brought the candle around to the front, pulling out Genesis’ scrotum with his other hand. “But I don’t really care if he sees this. It’s good enough, just me seeing it.”

Genesis gasped and shivered, turning his head blindly from side to side. He jerked straight as the wax ran over his scrotum, following the lines of the rope wrapped around it, and then slumped as Cloud moved the candle away. His mouth sought out and latched onto Cloud’s neck, working weakly.

“Yeah, you’re good,” Cloud said, more quietly. He let Genesis rest a moment. Then he lifted the candle over Genesis’ shoulder, watching the wax pooling at the base of the wick, and everything else went away for a while.

* * *

Rescuing Angeal was an anticlimax. They had time to put shielding in the escape tunnel so it wasn’t limited to a one-man team, and Tifa was running the whole thing from beginning to end, so Cloud just showed up, blew out magic all over the place, and then woke up with his head in Rufus’ lap while Rufus bitched to someone about supply lines and being more creative about air support than using Vincent all the time. He went back to sleep.

When he woke up the second time, Rufus was moaning into his stomach, bound up in black rope over a disheveled white dress shirt and white silk panties, with Vincent sucking at Rufus’ hole through the panties. It took a while to work through the post-shedding crash, but eventually, Cloud got out of his bedroom and went to find out what had happened.

Angeal was hanging out in the keep with the triplets, who had managed to terrorize Zack to the point that they were forbidden to be alone in the same room with him. He was very grim and quiet, although he roused enough to thank Cloud and to hope, with a slight grin, that Genesis hadn’t been too difficult. Mostly he seemed to want to sit with somebody and read.

Lazard had gone back to Midgar with Aeris, Rude and Elena. While they’d been rescuing Angeal, a coalition of northern forces led by Rufus had managed to push out Midgar’s troops from the western continent, but they’d stalled when they’d tried to move beyond the ocean. If they were going to kill Midgar’s ruler, or take Midgar, it’d have to be done from within. And Rufus had apparently suggested that he’d be happy to go if Lazard didn’t want to, which had led to…some argument Tifa and Tseng had separately tried to explain to Cloud, then given up on, just saying that it’d worked out.

“It’s not that hard,” Reeve said, opening the door. He looked a little rough, his eyes red-rimmed and his hands gray with ink smudges. “Lazard understands intellectually that Rufus has changed his mind, but he doesn’t see it emotionally. They’ve been fighting over Midgar for so long that it’s never even occurred to him that, while Rufus wanted it badly, it wasn’t for the same reason.”

Cloud nodded and offered Reeve a cup of tea. After a moment, the other man came out onto the balcony and took it. He dosed it with an abnormally large amount of sugar and downed the whole cup in one swallow, then poured himself another.

“So, I was a bit of a prick before.” Reeve sipped at this cup. “Sorry.”

“I made you into a puppet,” Cloud said, shrugging. “Fine, you weren’t my puppet, we all discussed it and decided it was worth the risk, but it was just one life ago. I think you’re getting over it really fast, actually.”

“Not really,” Reeve mumbled, flushing behind the cup. He cradled the little slip of porcelain in both hands and stared down into it, then sighed. “I may have showed Kadaj how to take a reading so he could tell if he was stable enough to leave the keep, and he may have crawled into my bed later on and done highly deviant things with my cock.”

Cloud blinked. “They’ve absorbed that much already? I’ve been sleeping, I haven’t been—where was the magic coming from? Was I channeling in my sleep?”

For a moment Reeve looked oddly at him. Then he snorted and drank some tea, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. “No, Cloud. Since you weren’t available to power the place by fucking, we used some of the vast stockpile of materia you’ve built up. And thank you, as always, for your unique perspective.”

“I like you better when you’re bitchy,” Cloud said, shrugging. He dropped a sugar cube in his tea and prodded it with his spoon. “Who’s mad at you for Kadaj? He’s a little weird but I think he’s together enough to make his own decisions, this life. Lazard?”

“…left before he could be confused over that,” Reeve muttered. “I suppose we should talk at some point. No. Tifa caught us coming down to breakfast, and then Sephiroth just stopped me on his way out.”

Cloud set down the cup. He got up and went to the railing and looked at the keep next door, but nothing looked out of place. It did look—different, with the wards Reeve had designed overlaying his own. Somehow lighter, less like an ominous ruin. That gave Cloud enough pause so that Reeve had time to get up and lean against the door, blocking Cloud’s way.

“Sephiroth and Genesis both seem a little agitated over Midgar,” Reeve said.

“Because they’re generals, they’re trained for this, and they can’t lead their men,” Cloud said impatiently. “Didn’t you just apologize for being a prick?”

“Yes, and now I’m trying to point out that Sephiroth did not ram his sword through my gut and the town’s not on fire,” Reeve snapped. He leaned on the door, then stepped aside. He even reached over and pulled it open a few inches. “He went up with Tifa and Vincent. I think he just wanted to stretch his legs. The keep’s not that large when you put five active men in it and they’re stable enough now for a short walk.”

Cloud pressed his fists into his hips. He turned around, then went back to his chair and slouched into it. “Fuck you,” he said. “Reeve, honestly, you remember but you don’t know a damn thing.”

Reeve didn’t come back over, though he had over a cup of tea left. He stayed by the door, so Cloud picked up the cup and tossed the contents out over the railing, and then put it back on its saucer.

“It’s not the same town. Not even close,” Cloud added after a moment. “If anything happened to it now, I think Aeris would be the most upset.”

“Cloud, I’m…” Reeve sighed heavily. “You’re right. I don’t know. I’m probably less sane than Sephiroth, to be honest. It just…it happens so many times, over and over. I know I’ll fix it this time, and I even think it’ll go the way it’s supposed to. But how do you know if it’ll be all right the next time? What happens when we can’t fix it?”

“Then maybe I die, and come back with the rest of you? I don’t know either, Reeve. And I know that doesn’t help, but…it’s different. Thinking about it just doesn’t scare me.” Cloud got up again, and this time was able to get to the door without any obstacles. But he didn’t go through it right away. “It’s not that I’m sure I’ll come back. I just don’t mind if this is all I get. And you know, it wasn’t easy to get to that point.”

Reeve nodded. He put his elbows on the table and his hands on either side of his head, massaging his temples.

“You should get more sleep,” Cloud said. He opened the door. “I’ll get Tifa, all right? She shouldn’t be mad at you now.”

* * *

“I wasn’t mad at him in the first place,” Tifa said. She jumped lightly down the slope to land on the outcropping Cloud was on, then turned to point out the trail markers to Sephiroth. “I ran into him at three in the morning and I’m fresh back from the front and Kadaj was groping his ass in front of me. I was grumpy.”

Sephiroth carefully eased himself down the steep incline. His hair was definitely shorter than he usually had it, though it still hit mid-back. Cloud wondered idly why he wasn’t more reminded of Loz, then looked up as a shadow passed overhead.

Vincent, mostly demon at the moment, did a lazy loop across the sky, then pulled in his wings and dove straight at them. A second before he would have crashed, his whole body twisted about and, now a man, he dropped softly on his feet beside Cloud.

“And Kadaj was even grumpier, for that matter. He got all upset and demanded to know why—damn it,” Tifa said. “Never mind.”

By that point, Sephiroth had reached them. He clearly hesitated, then sighed and drew up short a few feet behind and to Tifa’s left. “As much as I dislike the topic, I don’t see the point of pretending it won’t come up again. You might as well discuss it now.”

“I didn’t want to discuss it either,” Cloud muttered. “I was just letting you know that you need to talk to Reeve.”

“No, I don’t,” Tifa said shortly. She knocked her boot against the ground, dislodging a shale shard from the treads, and then hopped down another three yards. Her back was stiff and her hands were flexing, and now that he was looking for it, Cloud noticed that her gloves were freshly scuffed over the knuckles.

Cloud started to call out to her, then remembered they had company. He automatically measured the distance between where they were and the keep, then stepped back as Vincent launched himself into the air again. The ensuing swirl of wind got some dirt in his eye and he irritably rubbed it out.

“I would offer to make a similar departure if I were able,” Sephiroth said. He was looking up at Vincent, his eyes narrowed against the sun. 

Tifa was watching Vincent too, apparently fascinated by the… _tail_ he’d gotten. She wasn’t moving and didn’t look like she was going to storm off any farther. “I think she’s fine,” Cloud finally said. “Your b—Kadaj just has this way of bringing up things from past lives. At least, I’m guessing that’s what it is.”

“I’ve experienced that myself,” Sephiroth said dryly. He glanced at Cloud. His body kept shifting stances. Barely moving, just a slant of the limb there, the tension in a muscle here, and probably no one but Cloud could have read them. Defensive to uncertain back to defensive. “He…why does he remember more than I do?”

“No idea,” Cloud said. He took a step forward.

Sephiroth followed him, with surprising, awkward haste. The other man overbalanced and stumbled slightly, then corrected himself with a sharp jerk. He filled out his clothes a little better, but the weight gain seemed purely cosmetic, without a corresponding recovery in strength or agility.

“I apologize,” he said. His eyes slid across Cloud, then away to the town below. “If you find that question offensive—”

“What? No, I—I just don’t know.” Cloud stopped and waited for Sephiroth to catch up, which the man did with slow, precise steps. “I don’t know. Tifa’s got theories, but I stopped trying to make sense of it a long time ago. I don’t think it helps, thinking about why one person remembers more than someone else. However much you do remember, it’s enough trouble just dealing with that.”

Sephiroth looked at him again, then nodded. The man’s stare was intense, but that was the norm. What bothered Cloud was the…he was listening to Cloud, very closely. That one had come up before, but not that often.

“I don’t think Kadaj meant any harm,” Sephiroth said after a moment. He half-grimaced, then nodded towards Tifa, his head angled so his hair temporarily curtained him off. “He seems…he seems to not distinguish between lives.”

“Yeah.” Cloud moved his hand a little as Tifa looked up at them. She frowned, then turned away with an irritated snap of the head. Since she still wasn’t moving, Cloud settled back on her heels and decided to wait another moment. Talking to Sephiroth was rarely comfortable but at the moment, it seemed preferable to challenging Tifa for the only path down. “He doesn’t, but then, I don’t think he’s ever had a natural birth either? Even Tifa doesn’t remember everything right away. She usually gets a few years as a kid first.”

“He should,” Sephiroth said, sounding oddly angry. Then he set his shoulders back and gestured with his hand, and Cloud eventually realized the man was trying to look non-threatening. “I have no feeling for children. I’ve never wanted them. But I am—I am responsible for their creation, so—”

“I don’t see a lot of responsibility in being chained up while people extract bits of me,” Cloud said. He scruffed one hand through his hair, then looked back up at the sky. Some days Vincent really annoyed him, being that goddamn moody without even getting how much freer he was to run off. Or fly off. “It’s all right, you know. If you don’t want to have anything to do with them. We can take care of them. And Kadaj will be upset but he does understand that you and he have…complicated issues.”

Sephiroth regarded him for a while, with that same intent, almost deferential intensity. It was like Cloud had impressed him.

“Tifa said something similar,” he finally said. “I…am not an ideal guardian. But I wished for family, when I was younger. Playmates. I do realize that they are not wish fulfillment, nor are they likely to ever be equals. But I would like a role in their lives. And something beyond—beyond what I remember. I was—I was _nothing_ to them. I was as terrible as those who made us. And this—this _Jenova_ —”

“You shouldn’t get that upset over her,” Cloud said.

Sephiroth actually rocked forward at that, as if the incredulousness on his face had taken over his body. “How can you say that?”

“I killed her?” Cloud said. He tried to stifle his snort at first, seeing how upset the other man was, and then realized it wasn’t because of what he was saying. Just how he was saying it. So he shrugged and let himself laugh blackly. “Sorry. I’m really old and I’ve fought her more than you, and I kind of got a little fucked up over it and never straightened that out. But yeah, she was the calamity, in all meanings of the word. She’s also long gone and for a hell of a long time what I and Tifa have been dealing with hasn’t been her, it’s been all the ways people haven’t been able to forget her. She’s not the one who fucked you up this time, you know.”

Down below them, Tifa gave one last kick to the grass. She stood back with one hand on her hip and the other shading her eyes, then turned around and strode up the slope. Her body was loose and confident, and she looked just ordinary exasperated, not weary with it.

“Kadaj thinks Reeve and I are still together,” she said, coming up to them. “He thinks we’re _fighting_ and that’s why I didn’t come get Reeve when he remembered, and help with his nightmares. No, don’t, Reeve already was straightening him out when I left, but I think we do have to think about that, Cloud. It’s one thing to leave people out of it, another to leave them to handle the memories all by themselves.”

“But we didn’t know he’d remembered,” Cloud said. “And do you want to go around all the time going reincarnations, call us if you ever remember and it’s bad? Sometimes that triggers it. At the least, it pushes them to get involved. Might make them just as mad.”

“But—”

“But we tried it one way with him and it blew up in our faces. This time.” Cloud spread his hands. “What, Tifa? You know there’s no right way. We just try and have a reason why we’re doing it one way or the other, and if it fucks up, we’re sorry. But we can’t do any more than that.”

Tifa’s hands came up, then went down. Then they came up again, pressing back over her hair till the skin of her forehead pulled taut. She held them there, then sighed and let go, her fingers dropping to pull and knead at her shoulders.

“Damn it,” she said. “Yeah. Sorry. Forgot.”

“You forget once to my five, so I owe you,” Cloud said. He smiled when she kicked at him. “I’ll try and talk to Kadaj too.”

“He’d like to come up the mountain,” Sephiroth said, and then actually winced as they both whipped around to stare at him.

“We get in our own world sometimes,” Tifa said, over whatever he’d been about to add. She reached out and touched Sephiroth’s stiff, still arm, then swung back down the slope. “A nice walk should be great for that talk. Gaia knows if we try and do it in the keep, Reeve will somehow overhear and have another breakdown.”

“Go do something about that,” Cloud said after her.

Tifa flapped her hand over her shoulder, continuing down the mountain at a steady pace. Cloud started after her, then looked over to see if Sephiroth was following.

Sephiroth was, although just as Cloud turned, the other man slipped again. Cloud instinctively reached out and caught his arm, then let go as soon as Sephiroth was steady. He walked at a slightly slower pace, absently rubbing his tingling fingers. “You’re pushing the wards,” he noted.

“I know.” Sephiroth grimaced, then irritably pulled at his coat. It was a long black leather duster, passingly similar to the SOLDIER uniform of his first life, but this one came with a high collar that he turned up against the brisk, chilly breeze. “My fault.”

“Tifa would have called you back earlier if she didn’t think they’d last,” Cloud said. “Were you in the cage the whole time?”

“Yes,” Sephiroth said. He seemed unlikely to go on, but then he wrenched his head about. He twisted his sword-hand, looking at the faintly glowing lines over it. “They attempted the control implants on myself and Angeal, but weren’t able to make ones that would withstand the drain for long. Only Genesis was ever deployed consistently.”

Cloud nodded. “Surprised you can walk already.”

“The drain doesn’t seem to affect involuntary processes, so my healing ability remained intact, albeit limited by the poor nutrition and the torture, and the inability to boost itself with magic,” Sephiroth said. He began to put his hand in his pocket, but then he turned to Cloud. “You killed me so many times. Justifiably.”

“Different lives,” Cloud said after a moment. They’d reached the edge of the town; Tifa had already opened up the wards for them so Cloud gestured for Sephiroth to go ahead of him. Instead the man stared at him, as if he was a completely different species. “A _lot_ of lives, all right? I killed you a lot. So I got to kill you because I was mad, because I hated you, because I was sad for me and for everyone and even for you, and just because it was so damn _frustrating_ , how you keep coming back. I killed you all the way to I kind of don’t care about the act of killing you, at this point. Now can you just go?”

Sephiroth took a step back, his brows up and his eyes slightly widened. He kept staring at Cloud for another step, and then he abruptly turned and went on through the wards.

Thankfully, Tifa had waited for him, and looked like she’d walk him the rest of the way. Cloud started to close the wards, only to nearly rip them when he felt the shift of air above him. He relaxed his hold and took a couple breaths, then looked at Vincent.

“Do you want to walk?” Vincent said. He’d already gotten rid of his wings. He looked at Cloud, then down at his arm. The golden plates flexed, cracked apart and then smoothed back into white flesh. “Would it help?”

“Probably not in a good way,” Cloud finally said. He stepped through the wards, held them for Vincent, and then closed them up. Then he stood back and pressed his hands over his hips. “I don’t really want to be around people right now.”

Vincent hesitated. His arm went back to armored. “All right,” he said, and turned away. His footsteps died away fairly quickly, but Cloud stayed where he was.

* * *

Cloud fought it down by the evening strategy session, and by the time he shoved Vincent up against the wall of his bedroom that night, Reno and Genesis getting busy with ropes behind them, he was more or less fine. There was a war on, even if for once he was the secret reserves and not the frontliner, and he’d stuck around before for years at a time for something like that.

Tifa worked things out with Reeve, in that they weren’t sleeping together but Reeve was getting more sleep, and both of them started spending time sitting with Kadaj. The constant supply of magic had stabilized the triplets, Sephiroth and Hewley enough for them to spend a few hours a day outside of the keep, but they still weren’t anywhere near ready to fight. The triplets didn’t seem to have that much of an issue with it; they kept themselves busy with sparring with whatever Turk was resting up or reading their way through the non-erotic literature in Aeris’ library, with much acting-out of emotional responses they found confusing.

Hewley still was depressed. Genesis frequently yelled at him, and Zack worked on it whenever he wasn’t in Midgar, helping Aeris and Lazard wrangle an increasingly fractious resistance, and since Hewley hadn’t cornered Cloud or shown much interest beyond what was polite, Cloud left the other two to it.

Sephiroth, on the other hand, was slowly but surely getting on Cloud’s nerves. Fine, him offering advice on the war was a huge strategic advantage, and one that took a lot of work off Tifa—Cloud did feel guilty, not noticing how much she’d been doing till she holed up for two days straight sleeping—and fine, it was great that he and Genesis were sparring. Genesis needed an outlet to blow off his frustration with Hewley and Cloud wasn’t going to be it, since fucking wasn’t what Genesis needed or wanted then and Cloud couldn’t exactly talk him through a damaged friendship. It was even great that Sephiroth had managed to somewhat reconcile Rufus and Lazard with each other by pointing out the sorties Wutai had made while Midgar was distracted with civil war.

But he kept talking to Cloud. He’d corner Cloud after the daily strategy discussion to ask Cloud’s thoughts on whatever weird interest Kadaj had taken on lately. Or he’d manage to come in when Cloud and Tifa were looking over Reeve’s plans to replicate the keep set-up in other locations, to try and distribute the sinks more broadly. Reeve thought they could probably tap into some known magical overspills, which would have the dual effect of feeding the sinks and reducing frequency of things like magestorms and underground magical explosions. If it was a planetary issue, he reasoned, then they needed to tackle it on a planetary scale.

“Or you could ride circuit around, making fucking stops, if the overspill dries up or gets interrupted or something like that?” Zack said.

Cloud kicked him. “I asked you about Sephiroth.”

“Sorry. I just have this terrible habit of seeing things out to their logical conclusion,” Zack said, clearly not sorry at all. “Okay, okay. I think he likes you.”

“I knew that,” Cloud said.

Zack was quiet for a moment. Then he sat up, frowning. They’d climbed out onto one of the cliffs overlooking the town, keeping Vincent company as he circled the mountain in demon-form. He’d just come back from the front and while he hadn’t suffered any major injury, he’d strained something in his wings during a transformation, probably by switching too quickly between forms. So he was spending some extended time as a demon, trying to give the body enough time to get used to itself again, and they were supposed to grab him if, in fact, it wasn’t that and his wings decided to fail.

Cloud really would’ve rather had Tifa for this, but she was putting her head together with Reeve and, by mirror, Aeris and Lazard, trying to figure out if it was worth bringing Genesis up to the front. Midgar had thrown one of Genesis’ old units into the fight and they thought Genesis might be able to turn them. But if Genesis went, Cloud would have to go and they were trying to keep Cloud out of sight. Tifa had been looking increasingly frustrated about the whole thing and Cloud hadn’t wanted to dump something else on her.

“Do you have a problem with that?” Zack finally said, reminding Cloud of what he should and could deal with, right now. “I guess I just thought you really…I mean, you’re sleeping with everyone else.”

“I’m not. I’m sleeping with the ones I want to sleep with,” Cloud said.

Zack held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa. Okay. I put that—I was out of line. That wasn’t just badly put, that was bullshit. I’m sorry. Okay. Sephiroth’s not your type and that’s cool.”

“I think he remembers some of the times we fucked before,” Cloud said after a moment.

“Okay.” To his credit, Zack attempted to sort through it himself before he gave up and flopped back on the grass. “Okay. Strife. I’m…you know, I know we’re not best buddies but I do like you, prickly immortal bastard that you are, and even if I didn’t like you, you’re asking for help so I’m going to do my best. But I’m confused.”

“I was in love with him a couple times. I don’t think he loved me back,” Cloud said slowly. “It wasn’t a good—it was fucked up, and a lot of people got hurt, and also there was a lot of mind-control. I don’t hold that against this _him_ , all right?”

Zack sat up and laid back down, his boots restlessly digging up clumps of dirt. Then he sighed and threw one arm over his eyes. “Shit. Okay. I…accept the way you feel about it. I admit, I have a hard time—you’re so calm, but hey, it’s your damage, it’s your right to feel however you feel about it. But still confused here. And you know, _Seph_ is guilting up a storm over it. Not that I knew exactly what he was upset about, but that makes sense of a lot of things.”

“Yeah, that’s part of it,” Cloud said. “Vincent’s the only other one who remembers past lives who I’m fucking right now, and at least his guilt is mostly about this life.”

“I don’t think Seph likes you just because he feels guilty,” Zack said. “In fact, I’m sure of it. He’s not exactly put together like normal people, but part of that is that he’s very clear about why he feels what he feels. He feels guilty about you because he feels guilty. He likes you because he likes you.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Cloud said.

Zack pushed himself up again. He stared at Cloud, rubbing at the side of his neck and biting his lip. Then he threw his hands up. “Fuck! Fuck, okay, I have no fucking idea. I’m confused. I don’t understand this goddamn multi-generational trauma. But look, Cloud, best I can do? Seph’s not going to stop talking to you unless you tell him to. He’s not going to—to maul you or anything, but he’s going to take whatever he can get and if that’s stiff small talk, then fine. He doesn’t get embarrassed over that and he doesn’t get snobby about crumbs. Okay?”

“Okay.” Cloud sat up as well, since Vincent was starting to veer back towards him. He drummed his fingers against the grass. “That…that does help, Zack. Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, any time,” Zack muttered. He watched Vincent for a few seconds, then swung back towards Cloud. “Hey, you two ever just…you know, were you ever just friends?”

“We were friends,” Cloud said eventually. “But not really friends of each other. It was usually through someone else.”

“He’s a good friend, when you get to know him.” Zack got to his feet, then began waving his arms like a deranged windmill. He stopped when Vincent, annoyed even in demon form, pulled up short. “And hey, you know, you don’t have to get to know him.”

Cloud sighed. Give Zack an inch of credit, and he’d take a loan out for the next mile. “I’ll talk to him.”

* * *

In the end, they did decide it was worth bringing Genesis out. He and Cloud made the trip to the plains just outside of Midgar, where half the units facing them deserted and the other half stayed. And then Midgar rolled out some secret weapon, some kind of cross between undying fire and a missile, and the whole battlefield was alight before they knew it.

Tseng raised a windstorm that kept the flames largely off the northern troops, and Cloud dropped the seals from Genesis so he could eat up all the propellant spells, so they won. But it was a bad victory, miles of land now unusable for years and Lazard enraged over his father’s coldblooded sacrifice of his own troops. Even Rufus wasn’t that happy; he came and curled up beside Cloud for a few hours after the battle, but by the time morning rolled around he was in deep with a barely-recovered Tseng, discussing the best way to take out Scarlet.

It was pretty clear that Scarlet had finally come down on a side and it wasn’t theirs, but Aeris still was unhappy about it. She hated losing an informant for any reason and all in all, Cloud was happy to get out of it, to take Genesis and get back to Nibelheim.

The moment they were inside, Genesis collapsed. He’d been nursing a bloody nose on and off since the battle, but had insisted he was fine. They’d had other, more pressing concerns so Cloud had to admit he hadn’t double-checked.

“He’ll be fine,” Tifa said, leaning against the doorway. “Power overload. He’s so used to a steady feed these days, and also, maybe when you’re not starved, it matters what kind of magic you’re taking in. Those new spells probably felt like vinegar after wine.”

Cloud looked up, but she was talking to Hewley, who’d actually come all the way out of the keep. He hunched when he saw Cloud looking at him, then gestured tentatively. Cloud waved him in and then joined Tifa in the hall.

“He’s going to pitch a fit if you’re not around when he’s awake,” she said. She tipped her head. In the dark hall, the soot streaks on her face looked like cuts. “A good couple hours before that happens, I think.”

“You should wash up,” Cloud said. He flexed his hands, then grimaced as his knuckles popped. “I’ll be back down.”

Tifa inclined her head, then turned around and walked back down towards her chambers, her arms hugging her chest. After a few feet, Reno slipped in behind her, and then Elena—Cloud exhaled, glad to see that all the post-battle arguing hadn’t kept Aeris from sending back who Tifa needed. It’d been bad for everyone.

He borrowed Rufus’ room—Rufus had kept it, despite never using it—and cleaned himself up, then tried to rest for a half-hour. Then he gave up and went downstairs.

The path up the mountain ran by the keep, so he wasn’t that surprised when Sephiroth stepped out onto it. “I heard about the battle,” Sephiroth said.

“Yeah,” Cloud said.

Sephiroth appeared uncertain as to how to go on, but was about to say something when Cloud’s magic slipped over him. He stiffened, then relaxed slightly when he recognized the type of spell—not as delicate as Aeris, even when Cloud wasn’t tired, but it got a reading. Looked like Sephiroth was fine for three or four hours.

“I’m going to the reactor,” Cloud said abruptly. Then he turned and went past the other man without looking.

The years had changed the mountain slopes, wearing down this cliff, obliterating that one in a landslide. Also, the position of Nibelheim had changed, based on trade routes, marching armies, ghost stories. So it didn’t take nearly as much time to get to the reactor these days. On the other hand, the old building had sunk into the ground until it wasn’t even visible unless you knew what to look for. And when Cloud and Tifa and Aeris had come back this way, they’d made sure of it by planting trees and shrubs on top, blocking off exhaust vents and supply pipes, layering wards on top of wards and then adding lead to hide the magical signature.

But Cloud had left a way in. He’d had some idea, at the time, that since that was where it’d all started, then that’d be where they figured out the whole reincarnation for everyone but him thing. And then as time had passed and they’d given up on that, he’d just left it because. It didn’t hurt. And it was something to remember, in between the times Tifa reincarnated and he was sure to have someone to remember with him. They never mentioned it but he could go years alone, with only the tenuous promise of a visit to Nanaki.

He lighted the place up with soft white will o’ the wisps, then walked across the empty, echoing room and up to the base of Jenova’s old chamber, listening to the slow tread of boots behind him.

“Genesis got knocked out negating a new Midgar weapon,” Cloud said after a moment. His voice repeated itself in increasingly tinny, flat tones as it bounced around the room. “I’m a bad general. I can improvise, I can do tactics, but logistics and broad strategy…Tifa’s good at it. We figured out a while ago, let her handle it and I show up only when you need the final blow. So I don’t actually kill that much these days. Don’t need to.”

“I’d like to live this time,” Sephiroth said. He moved around Cloud and forward until he was—would have been face to face with the chamber glass, if there’d been any left. The chamber itself had sunk until he could’ve walked straight into it if he’d kept going. “But I understand the feeling.”

Cloud rolled his shoulders. “I didn’t say I wanted to kill _you_.”

Sephiroth turned around. A will o’ the wisp flitted near them and his green eyes seemed to soak up the light, looking eerily deep and yet opaque at the same time, like the ocean under the moon. “Spar with me.”

“Why?” Cloud said.

A flicker of irritation went through Sephiroth’s eyes. “Because I can offer that. Because I cannot, unfortunately, offer my services on the field. Because I can tell that you need—”

Cloud brought his hands up and stepped forward at the same time, so that his palms hit Sephiroth squarely on the chest, hard enough to make Sephiroth grab at a rusty railing. Sephiroth shut up, his lips so tightly pressed together that they seemed to disappear. Cloud pushed him again and his foot slid back. A third time, and he let go of the railing and stumbled into the chamber, grunting as his back hit the metal.

The bottom of the chamber was concave. Sephiroth kicked at it, then slid down, his arms pressed futilely against the curved walls, and his throat almost put itself in Cloud’s grip. It hitched against Cloud’s palm as Sephiroth finally reached some sort of compromise with gravity, his knees bent, his head nearly level with Cloud’s.

“Yeah,” Cloud said after a moment. He let go of Sephiroth’s throat and leaned back to grab either side of the frame where glass had used to be. “What I need’s not what you’ve been thinking about.”

Even in the dark, Sephiroth’s flush was deep and scarlet. He pushed at the walls and the old metal cracked, brittle under his hands. He didn’t look away, or pretend he didn’t understand. “You enjoy it. And I—”

“I like the people I’m doing it to,” Cloud said. “You don’t get it if you think I’m going to punish you, or get revenge, or anything like that.”

“I wasn’t thinking about you,” Sephiroth said. “You’re right. I was thinking—I remember, and these memories, they have associations I don’t want them to have.”

And Zack had been right, confused as he’d been. Sometimes Cloud was reminded that as often as Sephiroth had been in his head, it’d been a one-sided thing. And he hated that, and then he was annoyed at himself for still being stupid enough to think he’d seen, learned everything. And then he just sighed. He let go of one side of the frame and leaned against the other. “And manipulating memory has worked out so well in the past.”

Sephiroth straightened up slowly. The floor meant he still appeared several inches shorter than he really was, but he was looking down at Cloud again. “I don’t want them manipulated. I only…I want to feel something else, about the acts in them.”

“I’m angry and frustrated,” Cloud said after a moment. “And also, I don’t know that I want to feel what you want to feel about those acts. You get that?”

For a long time Sephiroth stood there and looked at him. Just him. There was that same intentness, as if he thought everything Cloud had to say was worth examining and reexamining. And then his eyes flicked to the side, to a discoloration on the wall, and Cloud jerked himself back.

“Get out of there,” Cloud said. “We’re leaving.”

* * *

He shepherded Sephiroth back to the keep. To Sephiroth’s credit, the man didn’t attempt a conversation even once, though he lingered to watch Cloud walk the long way back to Aeris’ house. Cloud’s shoulders itched but he let that be, and instead doubled back once the tower had shielded him from view, stealing up the mountain again.

He destroyed a few boulders, then came back to the house. Genesis hadn’t woken but he was sleeping now, not unconscious. Hewley was still there, with a handful of reports with Lazard’s signature at the bottom. He greeted Cloud, said he’d like to stay a little longer and that he’d ring a bell if anything changed.

So Cloud was sitting on the top of the tower when Vincent landed beside him. “I’m fine with Genesis,” Cloud said. “And fine with Tifa.”

Vincent folded his legs under him. “Sephiroth is not fine.”

“He’s chopping up trees,” Cloud said. He leaned back on his hands, then looked at Vincent. The other man hesitantly pulled himself over and laid his head on Cloud’s thigh, settling when Cloud sifted fingers into his hair. “He was punching something, so I let up on the sealing ward. Figured better he use the sword, he’s quieter that way.”

“He still woke up Loz, who then woke up the other two.” Vincent twisted his legs free, then stretched them out so he was fully lying down. “I think Kadaj understands. He’s keeping his brothers away.”

Cloud grimaced. “Damn it. I can’t believe I’m feeling like a bad parent.”

“Kadaj insists that you are not that to him,” Vincent said dryly. He moved his head a little, so Cloud’s fingers cupped the curve of his skull. Then he closed his eyes.

For a while Cloud was waiting for him to say something. Poke something. But Vincent just was there, draped over the stone, a nice additional source of warmth in the chilly night. He let Cloud comb through his hair and didn’t say a thing.

“I’m not a great person,” Cloud said after a while. “But I’m not…a certain kind of person either. And I know it’s not what you do, it’s how you do it, but some things I don’t know if you can really separate them. Maybe it’s just me.”

“It’s wrong to ask you for more than you want to give.” Vincent opened his eyes, but just gazed calmly ahead. “You’re who you are. If you were not, we would not act the same. So if we want you, then we should not ask for that which isn’t you.”

Cloud snorted. It was late and he was tired and he really should sleep, and there was no way he was going to untangle all of that without his head hurting. But he could hear Vincent’s tone and that helped. “I think he’s asking me to help. That’s fine. I just don’t like how he’s asking.”

“Then you should tell him so? Perhaps he’d be just as happy to ask a different way, but he hasn’t thought of it,” Vincent said.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, are telling me to talk it out,” Cloud said.

Vincent lifted his head. He turned over, then pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Cloud,” he said. “We care as much as you do.”

“I—” Cloud started, and then he sighed. He lifted his hand and stroked a piece of hair back behind Vincent’s ear, then slid his hand down to curl around Vincent’s nape. “Yeah. Yeah. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Anytime,” Vincent said, moving in.

* * *

Cloud was actually there when Genesis woke up, just sleeping. And he got up only a few minutes later, and not even because Genesis made him.

Genesis took it surprisingly well. “Unlike some people, you are painfully enamored with emphasizing your flaws,” he said. “I see no point when my work is already done.”

“I should whip you for that,” Cloud said thoughtfully.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Genesis slumped back against the bed, muttering imprecations against Midgar and Shinra for incompetent magical architecture and insufficient shielding. He’d put up such a fight against being moved into the keep that Aeris, still unable to leave Midgar, had finally given in, but she had insisted that Cloud keep it to hands and mouth and no additions until Genesis had gotten at least a few more days’ rest. The overload had been far worse than what Cloud had done when they’d met, and they needed all the cure potions and materia they could spare for the front. Unless Cloud wanted to try shedding—and he couldn’t control what types of materia he threw off, sadly—Genesis would have to rely on just his healing ability.

“At least tell me you’re dealing with that idiot,” Genesis muttered. “I’ll cut off his head if he comes in here again with that mood of his.”

“I thought Angeal had cheered up?” Cloud said.

Genesis glared at him. Then he curled down into the blankets, looking oddly adorable as he tucked his face mostly under one. “Don’t play the fool, it doesn’t suit you. He’s never going to deal with the rest of us if you don’t straighten him out now.”

“And I’m dealing with him,” Cloud said

“If you like,” Genesis said after a moment. He raised his head enough so his eyes weren’t covered. “You look at him. Vincent says it’s complicated, and I will leave it at that, but you do look at him.”

Cloud slouched in his chair. “Yeah, I do. I’m going to talk to him, all right? Just don’t expect it to turn out like you’re expecting. I look at him, he looks back, but it still comes down to whether it’s the same thing we’re looking for.”

“Oh, Gaia, spare me from idiots.” Genesis snuffled back into confident contempt. “Cloud, Sephiroth is very clear about what he wants, and very unclear about how he wants it. Those idiots never really let him learn that; they always broke him to their goals. He hasn’t the faintest idea how to break because he’s never gotten to try. It’s possibly his biggest blind spot.”

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” Cloud said after a moment. He got up, then bent over and ruffled Genesis’ hair, allowing the man to drop uncertainty for comfortable irritation. “Don’t drive Tifa crazy, or I won’t come back and tell you about it.”

Genesis blinked. Then he reached out, catching Cloud’s wrist. He pulled it down and pressed his mouth to the back, then let go.

“When I talked about Sephiroth, the first time we met, I didn’t actually give a damn,” Cloud said. “That was just for you, since you do.”

“Get out, Strife,” Genesis said, his voice rough. “Before I want to keep you from him.”

Cloud smiled. He stayed for another moment, until Genesis sighed heavily and pointedly, and then he turned towards the door.

* * *

They kept other artifacts in the tower besides guns with nonfunctional electronics. Some of it for good reason, because there were some things that magic couldn’t duplicate, and some things that, if they were ever going to revive it, they’d need more than just books and non-expert memories to explain to inventors. Some things that no longer fit into either category, but that had been good to have at the time and then they’d never gotten rid of them.

A lot of them were medical supplies. Sephiroth’s eyes widened gradually as Cloud set out each object on the table in front of him, until he was clearly, unabashedly stunned. He sat there and looked them over, his fingers slowly curling against the arms of his chair.

They were alone in the keep. Hewley had taken an interest in the triplets—Zack kept calling him the mama duck—and was escorting them on a short hike around the mountain somewhere. Reeve was sleeping off another marathon planning session in Tifa’s room.

“You were thinking of these,” Cloud said.

Sephiroth’s eyes flicked up and narrowed. He nodded.

“Not in the reactor,” Cloud said. “Not near anything of hers, or anything of Hojo’s. I still want to hate them.”

“I never said otherwise,” Sephiroth said. He uncurled his fingers, then got to his feet. He came over to the table to look more closely, but didn’t touch. “I’d like to spar with you first. A site of your choosing.”

“What if I don’t want to spar?” Cloud said.

Sephiroth looked at him again, then grimaced. He put his hands on the table, no weight at all on them, glancing at Cloud, and then settled them when Cloud didn’t do anything. “I am…I don’t know. I…”

“I can’t believe Aeris hasn’t talked to you, or directed you to books if you haven’t found them in the library yourself, or that no one—”

“I’ve been provided with more than sufficient information,” Sephiroth said dryly. Then he grimaced again. “I don’t know how to be what I am not.”

“Well, whoever it was didn’t explain right if that’s what you got out of it,” Cloud said, just as dryly. He picked up the objects and put them back in the bag, noting which ones Sephiroth’s eyes followed. “I don’t want to destroy you, all right? One, the next offensive is in a week and Tifa needs help figuring out the strategy. Two, whenever we manage to kill off Rufus’ damn father, someone’s going to have to get what’s left of the Shinra army under control—”

“—there are three of us trained for it,” Sephiroth said. He paused, then relaxed into his current stance, straight and tall.

Cloud shrugged. “You’re still the figurehead, sorry. You want to get Angeal or Genesis to be it, that’s for the future. And three, I want to get to know you after.”

Sephiroth’s brows jumped sharply. He rested his hands on the table a moment longer, then took them off. “I’d like that as well,” he said quietly.

“All right,” Cloud said. He jiggled the bag, watched Sephiroth watch it. “We’ll go up the mountain tomorrow morning. You figure out how to explain to Angeal and your brothers why they won’t be seeing you for a day or so.”

“Agreed,” Sephiroth said.

* * *

It was a flattish plateau, ringed by a low rock wall and sized so that Cloud could just about keep Omnislash within bounds if he stood right up against the wall. He and Tifa had made it ages ago for their matches, and had even set up a permanent gate in a cave a few feet away, so they could easily go back and forth between it and Aeris’ house.

Cloud sat on the wall on one side, carefully and methodically assembling his swords into the full-sized blade. On the other side, Sephiroth paced back and forth. It was chilly enough that Cloud had worn a sleeveless sweater with his trousers, but Sephiroth was bare-chested, so that Cloud could see the still-healing scars where the chains had cut. Even so, when Sephiroth had tried a few practice swings, it’d been clear that he’d regained enough strength and flexibility to match Cloud in those areas.

They’d agreed to leave magic out of it, since Sephiroth still was a long way from spellwork, but Cloud had removed the sealing ward from the man’s hand so he could summon Masamune at will. He had it out now, a long black promise in the bright sunlight.

Done, Cloud hopped off the wall, sword in hand. Sephiroth turned towards him and Cloud glimpsed cold flat eyes.

That was all. They’d each taken two passes at each other by the time Cloud had time to look up again, and that was just to track Sephiroth as he leaped for an overhead strike. Cloud dodged and then backhanded, his sword snapping apart and then back together, Sephiroth easily parrying all the blades. 

It was battle in earnest. Sephiroth didn’t hold back and Cloud found his muscles aching at having to match him. There were plenty of challenges as far as brute force was concerned, but he’d rarely come across one of skill, too. And this, this challenge, he didn’t go into angry or grief-stricken or anything but determined. This challenge, he could _see_ the skill, instead of all the—

—he felt a slice across his leg, cutting fabric but not skin, and remembered. Didn’t fight the memory, let it come, let it overlay the body twisting and turning in front of him. A memory, an experience, a lesson. A faint twinge of emotion welling up with it, and then his sword tip dragged scarlet across white skin.

Sephiroth leaped backward and Cloud pressed the advantage, driving him up to the stone wall. The other man finally broke free and attempted to jump again but Cloud was already above him, harrying him close to the ground. Their swords clashed, skidded against each other, and then Cloud felt the sudden wet drag as his sword slipped into flesh. He pushed it in farther.

Flesh wrenched free, but off-balance. Sephiroth blocked the next two blows, broke Cloud’s guard on the third. A glancing streak of pain went across Cloud’s forearm. He ignored it and ducked _under_ , parried and then brought his sword around to smash down and yes, Sephiroth’s sword was there. It was always there.

Masamune was a shivering shadow against the grass, and Cloud’s other sword was a silver line against Sephiroth’s throat. Drops of blood pearled up from the edge and smeared over it as Sephiroth swallowed, staring up the blade at Cloud.

“Yield,” he said after a long moment. “I—I yield.”

Cloud didn’t move. Sephiroth swallowed again, his reflection trembling and distorted on the sword blade. He inhaled sharply when the sword finally swung back, his eyes closing.

They opened wildly when Cloud turned the sword around and smacked the flat across the back of Sephiroth’s shoulders. The blow sent him sprawling forward; he caught himself on one arm, his head rising slightly, then dropping low.

He didn’t resist as Cloud walked around behind him and pulled his arms back. Cloud tied them roughly with rope, using knots that would catch even the slightest glimmer of magic and make it pool at the small of the back. Then he let go. Sephiroth kept his head down, face nearly touching the grass.

Cloud went past him and picked up Masamune, then carried it over. He laid it across the back of Sephiroth’s neck, watching the strain of Sephiroth’s back under the weight, then put the hilt in Sephiroth’s hand and forced the man to dismiss it. Then he grabbed a handful of Sephiroth’s hair.

He hauled the other man over the ring and into the cave where the gate was. They left a bloody trail behind him, and by the time he let Sephiroth drop onto the cave floor, Sephiroth was heavily favoring his right leg. He winced, then slumped half-curled against the rock, blood oozing from a deep slash on his left thigh and two more cuts on his chest and shoulder. There was also blood on his neck but when Cloud rubbed his fingers over the spot, drawing a sharp hiss, he found that it’d already healed.

None of the wounds would kill him, but stitches would help the leg muscles knit properly. Cloud got the bag he’d brought with him and took it over to Sephiroth. He knelt down and began to lay things out, starting with a metal tray.

Sephiroth was silent, only the occasional quick inhalation. He looked very calm, almost expectant. When Cloud moved towards him, the ventilator mask in hand, he pushed himself up the cave wall and obediently opened his mouth.

The mask was clear plastic, covering jawline to cheekbones, encasing mouth and nose. On the inside was a plastic tube that jutted between the teeth and kept them open, while a corresponding tube led from outside the mouth several inches down the chest, with filtering material inside the tube. The mask had once been held on by an elastic strap that had long since rotted; Cloud had replaced that with supple black leather. He fastened it tightly, then tested it by covering the end of the breathing tube with his palm for a few seconds, just long enough for Sephiroth to tense.

Next were the cuffs. They hadn’t come from the armory. Two inches wide, steel padded with black leather, and steeped in enough magic to hold even Cloud. He and Tifa had come up with them when they’d first been trying to figure out how to manage the shedding, and had quickly abandoned them. He’d never used them again, till now. The rope came off Sephiroth’s wrists and they went on; Sephiroth twisted slightly and Cloud knew he was feeling the chill of the metal against his hot, overmagicked skin. The cuffs would dissipate that in a few seconds but it’d feel like someone was rubbing him with sandpaper.

He didn’t chain them together, just held them in place, kneeling behind the other man. Sephiroth made a muffled noise behind the mask and Cloud jerked the cuffs. The other man was silent again, his head hanging down so his hair entirely hid his face.

That wouldn’t do. Cloud pulled him up by the arms, then dragged him so he was lying flat on his back, his arms at his sides and angled so there were about three inches between his hands and his hips. The cuffs were fastened to rings bolted to the cave floor, and then Cloud went back to the tray.

He put it on top of Sephiroth’s chest. The ground sloped so Sephiroth’s head was pushed up and he could see the tray’s contests without having to lift it more than an inch. He tugged at the cuffs when Cloud picked up the steel tube, then put his head down and stared at the ceiling. His eyes were a little dazed over the mask.

The tube locked around Sephiroth’s cock. It was lined with black leather, soft enough to give the false impression of stretching for the fleeting second before the metal closed down. Two thick steel rings hung off the end and Cloud fastened them, one at a time, around the base of Sephiroth’s scrotum. He caressed the scrotum briefly, provoking a startled shift from the other man, and then picked up the lube.

Sephiroth didn’t react at the touch to the slit of his cock. He did when he heard the rip of plastic. He looked up, froze as he saw the catheter in Cloud’s hands. His legs pulled up sharply and Cloud grabbed his shin, squeezing tightly. Sephiroth flinched again, then shivered; when Cloud loosened his grip, Sephiroth moved his leg up and down, almost trying to nuzzle it against Cloud’s palm.

Cloud let go. He cradled the cock cage in one hand and slowly, carefully fed the catheter into Sephiroth’s slit with the other. The lips of the slit stretched inwards under the friction, even with lube, and every so often Cloud stopped and waited for them to relax. Then he’d start again.

By the time the catheter was fully seated, Sephiroth was trembling with the effort of not struggling. He lost control when the first trace of urine leaped up into the tube, his hips jerked so sharply that Cloud seized his balls, yanked on them, and then he stopped, a thin shuddering noise coming out of the breathing tube.

The catheter was capped. Cloud pinched the cap between thumb and forefinger and used it to sway Sephiroth’s cock back and forth, making the man turn his head almost in rhythm against the floor. Then he ran his hand down the cock cage—Sephiroth hissed as if he could feel it through the metal—and under Sephiroth’s scrotum, lifting that out of the way.

He squeezed more lube onto his fingers and then stretched the man’s hole slowly. He pushed a circle over the prostate before withdrawing his fingers, then repeated that until Sephiroth’s hips were rubbing against the rock, his hands in fists. Then he took out his fingers and slid in the vibrator. It was small and round, and a piece of silk cord trailed from one end. Cloud tied the cord around Sephiroth’s thigh, the uninjured one, making three knots, and the vibrator sprang to life. Magic ones didn’t make the buzz that electric-powered ones had—unless they were spelled to do so—but Sephiroth’s low, shivering groan was almost the same.

Cloud looked over Sephiroth’s wounds while he was wiping the lube off his hands, then picked up the salves and needle and sutures next. He cleaned and sewed up the injuries with light, clinical touches, using only enough numbing salve so that the pain wouldn’t overwhelm the effect of the vibrator.

Sephiroth gradually stopped rutting his hips, his eyes less and less dazed as he followed Cloud around the cave. He closed them when Cloud reached for the silk cord, then opened them wide as Cloud tied two more knots, ratcheting up the intensity of the vibrator. His feet were jerking against the rock.

Cloud cuffed them and chained them down so they were straight and against each other, and then moved the tray off Sephiroth’s chest so he could play with Sephiroth’s nipples. He licked and sucked one and then the other, sliding his fingers into his mouth so he could pinch at the same time. They weren’t as sensitive as, say, Rufus’ were, but Sephiroth arched and groaned and panted through the breathing tube. And when Cloud let his mouth stray lower, just grazing a stitch, the mask barely muffled Sephiroth’s cry.

He sat up then. Sephiroth stared at him, disappointed, and he put on the nipple clamps while the man was looking at his face. The cuffs creaked as Sephiroth writhed, then slumped back.

The blindfold in Cloud’s hands made Sephiroth jerk back as far as the cuffs allowed, a distorted choking noise coming through the tube in his mouth. Sephiroth shook his head sharply, then choked again as Cloud rubbed the blindfold over his cheek, stroking a hand over his chest and catching first one, then the other clamped nipple. He breathed in raggedly, wetly, and then closed his eyes as Cloud brushed thumbs over them. Cloud rubbed his thumb against the bridge of Sephiroth’s nose near one eye, a little dampness leaking out from under the long, silver lashes. Then he bent over and fastened the blindfold. Thick black leather, tight, not going to shift however Sephiroth rubbed his head.

Sephiroth made a wet, frantic, protesting noise when Cloud inserted the IV into the crook of his elbow. Cloud got down and sucked at the bicep above, letting the rubber strap he’d tied bulge the muscle into his mouth, and carefully taped down the needle, then wrapped gauze over it till he was sure it was secure. Then he undid the rubber strap and stood up, pulling it free.

He hung the drip from a hook in the ceiling of the cave, adjusting the flow till he got it where he wanted it. The bag contained the equivalent of a saline and glucose solution, just enough to keep him hydrated and not starving. Cloud would still have to come back and feed him.

Though he waited for a while, petting Sephiroth as the man’s protests died into soft whimpers. He ran his hands over each limb, traced the flexing muscles in the stomach, counted ribs. Teased at the edges of the mask, slid his fingers through the hair and over the scalp in long, massaging strokes. When Sephiroth’s hips began to twitch again, he got up and connected an empty bag to the catheter, and then opened the valve. 

Sephiroth let out a long, desperate cry, clear even through the mask. Then he went limp against the rock, only his buttocks trembling and that due to the vibrator inside him.

Cloud studied him, then swapped out the full urine bag for a fresh one. He tied another knot in the silk cord and then fired up the gate.

* * *

He left Sephiroth for two-hour intervals at a time. When he came back, he’d refill the IV drip and change the urine bag, and then caress the man for a bit, playing with the nipple clamps, the cock cage. When Sephiroth got too desperate he’d leave.

Lunch came around and Cloud took down the IV, pressing his tongue against Sephiroth’s arm till the blood clotted. He changed the urine bag and massaged Sephiroth’s stomach till the second one was half-full, and then he inched the catheter from Sephiroth’s cock. After disposing of those items and washing his hands, he knelt down behind Sephiroth, lifting the man’s head into his lap.

Strings of spit hung from the breathing tube as Cloud pulled it from Sephiroth’s mouth. Sephiroth worked bruised, swollen lips a few times, breathing heavily. He stilled as Cloud brushed the first piece of food against his mouth, then sucked it in hungrily, so that Cloud had to grab his throat and force him to chew. But after that first piece, he was pliant, eating only as much as Cloud gave him, slowly and neatly.

Cloud ate too, one piece for himself and one for Sephiroth. He gave the man some water to rinse out his mouth, holding up a cup and turning Sephiroth’s head, and then he put Sephiroth’s head down. He got up and stood over the man, pulling down his trousers. Sephiroth inhaled sharply as they fell across his belly, then groaned as Cloud pushed them off and to the side.

He jerked when Cloud grabbed his cock, smearing lube generously over the steel cage, pushing at the slit that was still tender from the catheter. A harsh croaking sound came out of his mouth, then another. Then he cried out as Cloud sank down onto his cock. His head whipped sharply, meaningfully to the side.

Cloud stopped halfway. Sephiroth worked his mouth, coughed, and then shook his head. “No,” he said.

“What?” Cloud said.

“No.” Sephiroth shivered, then coughed again. His voice was thick, even lower than usual. “Please. Fuck me.”

After a moment, Cloud got up. He grimaced a little—he hadn’t been the one fucked in a while, and even compressed by a cage, Sephiroth’s cock was substantial, then swung his leg over so he was kneeling by instead of astride Sephiroth. “Fuck you?”

“Please,” Sephiroth said. He licked his lips and his tongue caught on a chapped spot. 

Cloud considered him. “Fuck you how?”

The chains rattled and groaned. Sephiroth pushed himself into a half-reclining position. He was shaking uncontrollably, fresh sweat running down the dried layers of salt that dusted his skin, holding himself up more through clenched abdomen than spraddled arms. “How?” he grated.

When he swayed, Cloud reached out and caught one shoulder. He didn’t grip it very hard, just enough to keep Sephiroth up, not enough to take on any of the weight. Sephiroth gasped and struggled, and was beginning to sink anyway when Cloud twisted behind him. He coughed roughly at the knee Cloud put to his back, then bit back a cry as his arms collapsed under him.

Cloud let the cuff on Sephiroth’s outstretched arm unclip from the ring bolt at the same time. Sephiroth folded over, wrenched sideways and down at the waist. Another shove got him twisted forward enough for Cloud to pull his arm behind him and push the cuff up against its still-bolted mate. “Like this?” Cloud said, fastening the cuffs together.

Sephiroth’s legs could just about stretch to accommodate the new position but it was hard on them, the knees visibly close to dislocating. He sucked in his breaths in short, rough beats, then let out a long, relieved moan as Cloud took his wrist-cuffs off the ring bolt. His hands were still chained behind him, just not to the floor.

“Like this?” Cloud repeated. He dug his knee into Sephiroth’s back, prodding the man into doubling over, face nearly on his shins. He slid his hand under Sephiroth’s ass, pushing with his fingers till he could just tug on the silk cord trailing out of Sephiroth’s hole.

Sephiroth jerked his hips and his head up, then flinched sharply as Cloud’s knee slipped near his kidneys. He said something but it was too raspy and full of spit to make out; Cloud reluctantly pulled his knee back, let the man sit up. Pushed at his waist and hips so he inched down, groaning from the cramps in his legs, his knees popping as they bent up. His hair stuck to his back in long, straggling tangles.

He tried to speak again, just as Cloud was rolling him forward onto his knees. The crack and slap of his shins landing on the rock drowned it out, and then Cloud had shoved two fingers into Sephiroth’s hole, rubbing the silk cord between them. Sephiroth wrenched away, making a harsh keening sound, and Cloud pulled him back by the wrist cuffs, forcing him to push himself onto Cloud’s fingers to the knuckles.

“What was that?” Cloud said. “What’d you say?”

“I—” Sephiroth coughed, his hips helplessly jerking against the thrust of Cloud’s fingers. He turned his head and coughed again, a long trail of spit dripping over his lower lip. “Like this. Like—like this.”

“What, fuck you?” Cloud said. He pushed his fingers in again, probing till he grazed the shivering edge of the vibrator. The little thing slipped away from him and Sephiroth’s head dropped sharply, his neck stretching as he whined. “Like this? Why?”

“Because—” Then Sephiroth shook his head. He rocked in place, his fists occasionally brushing up against the hand Cloud had wrapped over his cuffs, and then, with a visible effort, wrenched his head around to look over his shoulder. “Because. You—you’re looking at me. I can—I can’t see, but I can—tell—feel—”

That last part came out in a quick, tumbling rush, almost caught by the moan Sephiroth made as a shudder racked his body. He pressed his ass back into Cloud’s hand, then slumped to nearly knock his head into the floor as Cloud pulled his fingers out.

“You look good,” Cloud said after a moment. He rubbed his fingers against Sephiroth’s right buttock. “I think you looked better under me.”

Sephiroth shivered. His hands knotted around each other. He pushed his hips up a fraction more. “Please.”

Cloud moved a little closer. He let go of the cuffs and put his hand down on Sephiroth’s hip. Then he twisted the fingers of his free hand in the silk cord and, with a few sharp jerks, pulled it out of Sephiroth’s hole. The second to last jerk left the vibrator stuck half-in Sephiroth’s hole, the reddened rim spasming around it; Sephiroth dragged his legs apart as much as the ankle cuffs would allow, which wasn’t much, and bucked his hips wildly backwards until Cloud finally tugged the vibrator free. Then he subsided against the floor again, breathing harsh and dry and cracking.

“I think,” Cloud started, pressing up against the other man. His cock rubbed up the curve of Sephiroth’s buttock and Sephiroth choked out a whine. “I think I did want your cock, actually.”

Sephiroth inhaled noisily. His back trembled. Sweat pooled between his shoulderblades, then jittered off into rivulets over his shoulders and neck.

“In another life. But not right now.” Cloud pushed himself forward. The vibrator hadn’t stretched Sephiroth much and neither had two fingers; he had to work his cock in by inches, pumping slowly against the other man. He pulled his hands up to Sephiroth’s hips and kneaded the shaking muscles there, then slid them further back, digging his fingers into the softer flesh of the buttocks. “Fuck, you look good like this. Like this, right?”

Sephiroth moaned an affirmative, his body slowly slackening. His face was pressed against the rock now, the blindfold a dark slash amid his pale, tousled hair. He started to rock back against Cloud, and protested wordlessly when Cloud moved his hands back to the man’s hips and stopped that.

“Like this,” Cloud said again. With a last grunt, he was fully seated in the other man. He dropped his hands to either side of them and laid down along Sephiroth’s back, licking at some of the sweat. When Sephiroth whimpered, he dragged one hand up and wrapped it around the man’s scrotum, squeezing it as Sephiroth jerked and bucked and finally settled for squirming into Cloud’s groin, unable to move forward or backward. “Like this, on your knees, ass up, like you’re praying, right? Like you’re praying, like you’re not the _god_ —”

Sephiroth ground his face into the floor, keening, his body clenching around Cloud so tight it was almost painful. Cloud stuttered, drew breath to swear at himself, and then grabbed Sephiroth’s hips as the other man arched his back. He panted for a moment, staring at the flexing, straining flesh under him, and then he forgot what he was going to say. He just wanted to fuck the man.

He did fuck him, the lust so thick it crammed up against the roof of his mouth, made some snarling sound come out. It was too fast, cresting before he could even sink into it, a couple thrusts and then he was biting at Sephiroth’s back, feeling his come push out Sephiroth’s hole around his cock. He bit a last time, then pulled out, careful to be rough about it.

“Please,” Sephiroth choked.

“You said fuck you,” Cloud said. He coughed himself, short of breath, and then pushed one finger back into Sephiroth, pulling some of the come with it. “Not let you come.”

Sephiroth nodded, his breathing high and loud and quick. “Please.”

“Please what?” Cloud said.

“Please,” Sephiroth said, his voice cracking. He breathed wetly against the rock. “Please. Please stay.”

Cloud got off his knees and sat down. The rock was cold and gritty and scraped at his ass and legs. He rolled off one leg and rubbed at the underside of one thigh with his leg. Then he let his weight shift back. Sephiroth shuddered beside him, head still down.

He touched the man’s back and Sephiroth stilled, then shivered. Then stilled again, a frustrated, nervous noise coming from him. Sephiroth stopped making it when Cloud moved his hand, running it down in a long stroke from shoulder to hip. Cloud let it sit a moment at Sephiroth’s hip. 

Then he got up. He wiped himself off and pulled on his pants, and then cleaned up everything around them. He kept half an ear on Sephiroth as the man went from frantic pants to long, racking exhales to soft, slow breaths. When he finally came back and pulled Sephiroth up by the hair, Sephiroth barely twitched.

He did make a soft, confused noise as Cloud took off the blindfold. His eyes needed several seconds to focus, their pupils round and blown at first, then narrowing to slits. He blinked slowly, looking up at Cloud, his chin resting on the palm of Cloud’s hand.

Cloud moved forward so Sephiroth was leaning against his leg. Sephiroth’s eyes widened slightly and then, very tentatively, he let his weight shift forward, tipping his head so his cheek was lying against Cloud’s groin.

“I want you,” he said. His voice was still cracked, broken, but that was purely mechanical. He was steady and calm and it wasn’t arrogance, but the opposite, the complete lack of expectations. “I want you, and I—want to please you.”

“Yeah.” Cloud worked his hand out from under Sephiroth’s chin, pulling it back along the man’s jaw, into the matted, sweat-soaked hair. He combed through the tangle as gently as he could. “Yeah. I think I like that.”

Sephiroth looked at him. The calm ripped away, like a scab over a deep wound, and if Cloud had wanted he could have reached all the way down into that wound and pulled out the man’s heart.

He stroked Sephiroth’s head again, and Sephiroth closed his eyes, nestled his head into the cradle of Cloud’s hand and hip. Just like that.

* * *

Vincent was suspiciously quick to answer Cloud, although Cloud had set up wards to warn him if the man tried flying over the sparring grounds. And he didn’t bat an eye at what he found in the cave, but just shouldered the greater part of Sephiroth’s weight as he and Cloud carried the man through the gate.

Thankfully, the gate went more places than just the front courtyard, and they got Sephiroth up to Cloud’s bedroom without being seen. There were times to put on a show, and this wasn’t a time Cloud wanted to.

“In the library,” Vincent said as Cloud looked around the room. “He’s been working through the poetry volumes.”

Sephiroth snorted weakly, then nuzzled at Cloud’s hand as they dropped him on the floor. They’d taken the cuffs off his ankles and chained his hands in front of him, and he went on elbows and knees, following Cloud in a movement that was more sinuous than crawling. When Cloud knelt in front of the fireplace, he curled up with his head on Cloud’s thigh and his mouth brushing against Cloud’s arm. Cloud finally thought to offer his fingers and Sephiroth stretched out his head and suckled at the tips.

Vincent straightened up, glowing iron in hand, and Sephiroth stiffened. He’d pushed himself up before Cloud caught him with an arm around the waist, and then he laid tensely back. His head shifted restlessly against Cloud’s shoulder as Cloud snagged the wrist cuffs, pulled on them. Then it came up sharply as Cloud suddenly dropped them and grabbed Sephiroth’s thigh instead.

Cloud had been working his other hand between Sephiroth’s legs, playing with the cock cage. The moment the brand burnt flesh, he snapped open the cage and let it fall, wrapping his fingers around Sephiroth’s bared cock. Sephiroth threw his head back into Cloud’s shoulder, his teeth clenched, and by the time the brand had lifted, his climax had pulsed so much come onto Cloud’s hand that nearly all the skin was covered.

“Like that?” Cloud said. He loosened his hold on Sephiroth’s thigh, let his hand drift just short of the large _N_ seared into Sephiroth’s hip.

Sephiroth nodded, his face half-pressed into Cloud’s throat. He lifted his hands till they were just over the brand, then pulled them back as Vincent, sans poker, slid to his knees by them. Vincent looked at the brand, then yawned widely. His teeth lengthened, his tongue grew thin and black and twisted back on itself in the air. He bent his head and lapped at some of the come on Cloud’s hand, then looked up, frowning, as Cloud pulled his hand away.

Cloud put his hand up to Sephiroth’s face. After a moment, Sephiroth lifted his head from Cloud’s shoulder. He leaned forward and licked hesitantly at Cloud’s finger, then pressed his open mouth over the side of Cloud’s hand. Cloud crooked his arm around the other man’s head, guiding it back onto his shoulder. Then he tightened it as Vincent flicked his tongue over the brand, making Sephiroth start.

“Still hot,” Vincent said lowly. He looked up at them, then craned his head under Sephiroth’s bent knee to nip at the streaks of come on Sephiroth’s thighs.

Sephiroth twisted again, moaning around Cloud’s fingers. He closed his eyes when Cloud pushed his hands into Vincent’s hair. His fingers opened, then curled into dark strands.

“Are you going to tie him out for the rest of us?” Genesis sauntered across the room, a thick book dangling from one hand. He tossed the book onto the bed, his eyes pausing on the brand, and then he went to one knee behind Vincent.

“Then I’d have to do the same to all of you, to keep the peace,” Cloud said dryly. He felt Sephiroth’s mouth rise from his hand and glanced over, but Sephiroth was merely leaning back, looking at Genesis but not with any particular emotion.

Genesis bit his lip. Then he shrugged carelessly, his hand straying to curl over Vincent’s shoulder. “Well, I did have my turn already.”

“I would have liked to have seen that,” Sephiroth said. He paused, then resettled his head against Cloud’s jaw.

“You would,” Genesis said, half scornful, half hurt.

Sephiroth raised his head. He glanced at Cloud, then at the head between his legs. Then he slipped his fingers out of Vincent’s hair, careful not to knock the metal cuffs into Vincent, and sat up. He put his hands down on the floor near Genesis.

“Yes. I would,” he said.

Genesis bit his lip again. He wavered, then lowered his other knee, kneeling next to them. Cloud put out his hand and curled it around the back of Genesis’ neck, pulling him closer; Genesis pressed firmly against his palm, a low sigh coming out. He and Sephiroth tipped their heads this way and that, circling each other as best they could, and then he groaned and sank under the push of Cloud’s hand. Sephiroth craned his head to follow and they twisted so Cloud saw the slide of their mouths over each other, the way it warmed from careful exploration to instinctive pleasure.

“Maybe the next time Rufus is back,” Cloud said. They broke apart, turning arched brows and heavy-lidded eyes on him, and he grinned and ran his thumb over Genesis’ wet lips, then crooked it so Sephiroth bent down and licked at it. “He looks very pretty sucking cock. His mouth first, Sephiroth. Then Tseng’s. Then maybe I’ll let Genesis ride you, and Vincent can fuck you.”

Sephiroth shuddered against Cloud, his hands pushing back into Vincent’s hair, knotting urgently into the strands. Genesis inhaled sharply, equal parts lust and amusement, and then pressed himself over Sephiroth so quickly Cloud barely got his hand in between them. He cupped it over the fresh brand; Sephiroth jerked as Cloud’s palm grazed the seared flesh, then moaned into Genesis’ mouth as Cloud settled back to watch.

* * *

“I am very messed up in the head, Cloud-san, not stupid,” Kadaj sighed. “You are very lucky that my brothers like the game of keep Angeal away from the fun.”

“No idea what he’s talking about,” Reeve muttered, blushing. “Can you hand me the mirror?”

Sephiroth picked it up before Tifa could. He handed it to Reeve with enough chill to have frozen the entire continent, and then followed it up with a look to Kadaj. “Why aren’t you with your brothers?”

“Because, big brother, they forget but I remember you through Mother’s memories so I remember you and Cloud-san before, and that makes it less awkward if I’m the one to come,” Kadaj said. He fiddled with his kimono, produced a small puzzle of several interlocking rings and proceeded to rapidly solve and reassemble it several times in a row. “First I have to make Loz and Yazoo see, and then they have to tell me what they see, and then I have to remember and tell them what it is about, and then we have to—”

“Kadaj, can we not talk about that?” Cloud said.

“Okay, Cloud-san, if you make big brother less mad that I’m choosing people Mother never let me choose and it makes me happy,” Kadaj chirped back.

Sephiroth stared at Kadaj, his face impassive. Kadaj straightened up, fussing with his robe, and then suddenly threw back his shoulders and hardened his face and eyes. It made Cloud’s skin crawl and his hands curl into fists. He grimaced and looked away, and caught Tifa’s eye.

“Yeah, I know, but then I remember what a pain it was to kill her each time,” she said. “Drawing it out never really helped.”

“Inside—oh, forget it,” Zack muttered. “Seph? Hey…”

“As that’s your choice, Kadaj,” Sephiroth suddenly said, irritable as only the defeated could be. He pulled out the chair next to Cloud and sat down. “Shut up, Genesis.”

Genesis didn’t say anything, just smirked from Cloud’s other side. Then he sighed as Reeve cursed at the mirror. He raised his hand towards the mirror, caught himself and settled back with a grimace.

“Oh, I’ve got an update about that once we get Rufus on,” Reeve said distractedly. He poked at the scrying spells. “Aeris and I were charting out your progress and we think we’ve got enough data now to make some forecasts…there we go. Inefficient…Gaia, makes me wish we had handsets again…”

The image in the mirror was crackling and blurry, but it was not Rufus. Tseng peered back at them, then held up his hands as both Cloud and Tifa shot to their feet.

“He’s coming. His meeting ran over,” Tseng said. His eyes had the slightly greenish tinge of someone who was running mostly on cure potions.

Tifa sat back down. “I thought that was with Lazard.”

Tseng made a face without actually moving a muscle in it. “It was. He’s here in person.”

“I knew it wasn’t going to work,” Genesis muttered. He was flicking little flames from his fingers and watching them sputter into wisps of smoke a few inches from the tabletop. “Either he has to sacrifice more of the masses, or he needs actual special ops.”

Sephiroth shifted, which somehow shut up whatever Zack had been about to say in defense of his efforts in Midgar. He glanced at Genesis, caught the man’s eye and then raised two fingers of his right hand and moved them in a sort of semicircular dip followed by a sharp leftwards jerk. Genesis blinked, looked thoughtful, and then shook his head. “They did fill it?” Sephiroth said.

“No, but Fair took out the causeway access last week,” Genesis said.

Zack shrugged off the expectant stares. “Can’t explain what I don’t know, guys. You’re not the only one with inside—”

“Apologies,” Rufus said, appearing in the mirror. Behind him stood Lazard, Tseng having retreated out of sight. “We were dealing with a tactical retreat.”

“You didn’t kill your father,” Sephiroth said. He leaned forward. “Deusericus.”

“No, I didn’t kill him.” Lazard pushed Rufus out of the way, almost hiding the way Rufus was fighting between emotions. The mirror shook as he grabbed it, filling nearly the whole glass with his haggard, angry face. “They intercepted the team at the third checkpoint and hung them all from the main gate this morning, so clearly, my father was not _killed_.”

Sephiroth looked vaguely aggravated, which apparently was a signal for both Genesis and Zack to tense. “The longer he’s alive, the longer this war goes on.”

“I’m _aware_ ,” Lazard snapped.

“No one is disputing that point, but the fact remains that three well-planned, well-staffed attempts have failed,” Rufus broke in. He maneuvered his way back into the mirror, smooth and calm and reasonable. “And I can’t hold the alliance this far forward from our base for much longer. We don’t need the land here—it costs us more than we get from it. There has to be a fourth attempt, it has to be soon, and it has to work.”

“Do you think he knows anything?” Reeve waved one hand, then slouched back in his chair. “I was just thinking, he’s a good deal more competent than I remember, what with isolating Hojo and then digging in like he _knows_ the best fighters on the planet are more or less incapacitated here…”

Rufus flinched sharply, then withdrew into an icy poise when Lazard looked over at him. He hadn’t shown much of an interest in past lives, although for all Cloud knew that was only between them, and Rufus was quizzing everyone else behind the scenes. But since Rufus hadn’t asked, Cloud hadn’t said.

“He’s not the same man,” Tifa said. She rubbed the side of her face, then murmured a thanks when Kadaj produced a Cure materia from somewhere and handed it to her. “He doesn’t come back, Reeve. Just because you’ve got the same role—my mom’s never the same. And don’t ask how that works, when we still come back.”

“At any rate,” Lazard said slowly, still eyeing Rufus. “He’s…hard to get at. Not enough of the elite have deserted, and I’m fairly convinced that he recruited out of Hojo’s staff.”

“A popular uprising is out of the question as well,” Rufus said. He turned his shoulder to Lazard’s surprise; he’d been arguing the exact opposite, with overtones of disgust at Lazard’s failure to leverage his status in the slums, for weeks. “Tseng’s been working with Aeris to look into whether we can break his hold on the city wards. He’s done something to them. Short of dropping in someone to drain all the magic out of the place, we can’t, and the moment he thinks he’s dying, he’ll blow up everything.”

Reeve muttered about that sounding familiar, only to start when Kadaj hopped into his lap. He jerked up, only to smack his elbows on the chair and fall back, wild-eyed. “What—”

“Why can’t we go?” Kadaj said.

Sephiroth’s hands flattened against the arms of his chair, then relaxed. He sat back and behind him, Zack sat down, muttering about wishing Angeal was feeling up to this shit.

“Because—because you’re not that stable.” Reeve blushed. He pushed himself up, darting anxious looks at Sephiroth over Kadaj’s shoulder. “That is, because—”

“Because the only reason you’re not a magic-eating hole is that you’re sitting in the middle of a giant funnel for magic, next to the only reliable primary source on the planet,” Tifa said, getting up. She offered both hands to Kadaj, who cocked his head, then grabbed them and gleefully danced his way off Reeve’s lap and into her chair. He didn’t sit on her; he squeezed in beside her, curling over one shoulder. “We need an assassin. We don’t need to destroy all of Midgar, and that’s what’ll happen if you go, Kadaj. Even if Cloud goes with you, there aren’t the right wards and grounding.”

“I think eventually you’ll all go back to normal,” Reeve said. He pulled out a piece of paper covered in equations and curves, and waved it at Sephiroth’s and Genesis’ intent faces. “Eventually. And by normal, I’m referring to how you were before Heidegger got hold of you. He didn’t really change your capabilities. He just opened the way for the drain, which has been keeping you from building up enough power to do anything.”

Genesis raised one hand. “And ‘eventually’ means…”

“Well, for you, I’m projecting a month at the current rates. The weapon you ran into set you back a fair bit, but interestingly enough, your progress hasn’t slowed since, er, we brought in the others.” Reeve pondered his equations, completely missing the startled looks Genesis and Sephiroth shared; apparently, for all their arguing, they hadn’t considered that as a field of competition. “I think Cloud’s—the planet’s been increasing the flow through Cloud to compensate for the additional drain. But you’re all stabilizing, and so are the general levels around here, and…anyway. You’re by far the earliest, Genesis. The drain was never as strong in you, so you’re recovering quicker.”

“Far too late to be useful to us,” Rufus said. “All you’re saying is what we’ve already planned on—we won’t be able to call any of the generals into the field till this war is well over.”

“But what about Cloud-san?” Kadaj said.

He looked at everyone, wide-eyed, genuinely interested, and judging from the faces around the room, Cloud wasn’t the only one who felt reluctant to crush Kadaj’s clear belief that he’d solved it. When Kadaj wasn’t trying to kill him or morph into Sephiroth to make Jenova happy, he was enthusiastic and guileless in a strangely innocent, ridiculously charming way. He was even bouncing in Tifa’s chair.

“If I leave, then there’s not enough magic to keep things here going,” Cloud finally said.

Kadaj frowned. “But you leave all the time and it’s fine. I wouldn’t even know if big brother didn’t get annoyed every time.”

“Typical,” Genesis muttered, while Zack was doing a terrible job of not laughing, and Sephiroth did a fair impression of a statue.

“I just leave for a couple hours. Maybe for the day, at the most.” Cloud shifted in his seat and didn’t look at Tifa, or at Rufus. He always gave Tifa, and Aeris when she was in, an idea of when he’d be back and what condition he’d be in, so they didn’t have to ask. The others _hadn’t_ asked so he hadn’t said, although Rufus frequently managed to convey his irritation at having to go to Tifa and Aeris for that information. “I go out to get—I kill things in the mountains, run some local errands. It’d take longer to sneak into Midgar.”

Kadaj’s frown deepened. “Why do you need to sneak into Midgar? Why can’t you just kill him?”

“Our father is very well defended, Kadaj,” Lazard said slowly. “It’s taken Rufus and I years just to find out how many layers of security there are.”

“And our previous attempts were hardly whims. I did honestly believe Lazard’s latest plan was as tight as could be, under the circumstances,” Rufus drawled. He leaned forward, half-blocking Lazard’s look of wary surprise. “I don’t see how Cloud could just drop in.”

“That’s what big brother did before,” Kadaj shrugged. “Worked.”

Cloud winced and sat up, ready to shut down the mirror if either man reacted badly. But other than a faint twitch of the brow, Lazard seemed to accept it calmly, while Rufus actually smiled with real amusement.

“We really need to talk about how to talk about past lives,” Tifa said. She sounded distracted, which was enough to make Cloud look over at her. Her eyes were faraway, mulling over some memory. “You are terrible at covert. That’s why we stopped trying to fit you into it, saved you for the big climax.”

“It’d still take longer than a day,” Cloud said.

“There’s no mage-storm brewing. We could temporarily shift all the buffer moonstones to storage, which would give us three or four.” Tifa grimaced. “I know it’d be hell, but you have shed one right after the other before.”

Cloud grimaced right back at her, even if he knew she still wasn’t really seeing the room. “That’s because I was trying to kill everything in the Northern Crater. And speaking of, we _said_ no more destroying Midgar.”

“Sit down and shut up, Fair,” Rufus snapped through the mirror. How he saw Zack starting forward was anyone’s guess, but even through glass, his gaze was hard enough to stop the other man in his tracks. “One of you explain what the idea is.”

“You’re not going to destroy Midgar,” Tifa said. “Gaia, Cloud, it’s not like _all_ you do is shed. We drop you in, you fight the old-fashioned way, one on one, and in the meantime there’s a team to take over the city wards.”

Kadaj clapped his hands. “So we can do it?”

“Maybe. There is the one thing,” Tifa said. She finally shook herself and looked fully at Cloud. “You’re going to have to kill him yourself. Nobody else can get close enough.”

* * *

Cloud stared at the man for long enough that he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He raised a hand and Cloud sighed and moved over on the couch so Angeal had room to sit down next to him.

They were in the keep’s great hall. Someone had brought in a sword rack, and there were some nice Wutai blades and Banoran glaives on it. A rug had been laid down, looking a little lonely, a small dot of green in the middle of all the plain grey stone, but it already was rumpled up and slightly ragged around the edges, as if someone spent a lot of time rolling around on it.

“The sun comes in through some of the upper windows, and Yazoo likes to lie in the sunbeams,” Angeal said. He hunched over, fiddling with his sleeve, and then straightened up. “Sephiroth filled me in on the meeting, and either he’s arguing with Kadaj or with Genesis about whether he should say something to you.”

“Genesis. Reeve dragged off Kadaj.” Cloud slouched lower on the couch and let his legs push out in front of him. “I figured Sephiroth will want to ask. He usually gets that memory.”

“He’s not going to ask about his…” Angeal cut himself off with an incredulous snort. He looked at Cloud for a few seconds, then rubbed his hand over his face. “Look. I don’t know the details. I don’t _want_ to know the details. A very lovely lady in Aeris’ service informed me that the purest kind of freedom is being able to shut your eyes when you want. So I know you and Sephiroth and Genesis are in a relationship, and that it involves unusual practices but damned if I’ve ever seen Genesis this relaxed about himself.”

“Didn’t we already talk about this?” Cloud said.

Angeal looked just as annoyed as Cloud felt. “Yes. But I’m repeating it now because I want it clear that one, they’re both good men with flaws and two, you seem to know what to do about those flaws. Better than I ever did. So imagine how surprised I am to find out that you know jack shit about what they think about you.”

He let that sit in the air, leaning back on the couch afterwards like he didn’t mind the tension. Cloud bit the inside of his mouth and looked to the left, at the door. Then he turned his head forward again.

“You have no idea,” Cloud finally said.

“Yeah. That was wrong. Let me put it right,” Angeal said. “You don’t want to know jack shit about what they think about you.”

Cloud did get up then. He got a step away, then spun on his heel and stalked back and sat down. “I’ve done a lot of assassinations,” he said. “That’s not the problem.”

“I don’t actually care what the problem is, that problem.” Then Angeal hitched up his shoulders, a flicker of his prior moroseness surfacing. He shook himself and it went away. “Damn it. Look, I do, and I’m willing to lend an ear if it’d help. But I just want to say, I don’t think I’m the one who should be listening.”

“Well, I’m sitting here,” Cloud muttered.

“Because this is the last place Sephiroth is going to look for you. Oh, he’ll get around to it eventually, but he’s going to look everywhere else first. You know you’ve got a good hour,” Angeal said. He ran one hand back through his hair, then tugged at the back of his neck, as if it ached. “I’m starting to see why Tifa has that look on her face all the time around you.”

Something in his voice made Cloud look more sharply at him. Angeal flinched, caught out. Then he pulled his shoulders back and shrugged.

“When you pulled me out,” he said. “I started remembering. I think it’s mostly over now.”

“How much did you get?”

“The first life, a couple of other ones. Enough of them to know I showed up more times than that.” Angeal shrugged again, looking guilty again. “Feel free to call me out to Gen, but I remembered the time I ended up killing him. I’ll talk if he asks, but I don’t…think I’m ready to volunteer it.”

Cloud wasn’t going to call him out. He wasn’t even going to…he sighed and stared at his feet. A part of him wondered how much of Angeal’s timing was deliberate; he was far too old to even feel ashamed of that sort of thought. It was pretty much a reflex. Understanding what they meant, when they talked about prior killings, that was almost instinct, too.

“Anyway, I’m just saying,” Angeal said. He was getting up, leaving Cloud to stare at his back. “Sephiroth sympathizes. And I know enough to know that that’s weird for you, but you should just say that to his face. He never runs from you.”

“Yeah. I’ve noticed.” Cloud watched the other man walk across the great hall, past the weapons rack, the rug, the couple of chairs haphazardly positioned about the huge space. They’d have to move all that for him to shed.

He got up, then cursed as he hit his hip against the couch arm. For a moment he stood there and rubbed at it and stared at the damn hall he’d had for so long and done so little with. Then he turned around. He took a step, then another. Then he gave himself a shake and walked out.

Sephiroth and Genesis were arguing up and down a hallway near the back of the house, something about Lazard. They shut up almost as soon as he stepped into the hall, well before they could see him. By the time he walked up to them, they were silent and tense, Genesis poised in elaborate nonchalance against the wall while Sephiroth stood in the middle of the hall, turned just so Cloud could keep walking past but not without touching him.

“I just go, a lot. Tifa’s used to it,” Cloud said.

“She told us she’d smack sense into you after she’d finished the mission post-mortem,” Genesis said dryly. “I suppose if you take the word as meaning ‘familiar with,’ that seems accurate.”

“It doesn’t have to be you,” Sephiroth said. There was a flicker of irritation in his voice, directed at Genesis with a slight movement of his eyes. It died away as his gaze steadied on Cloud. He looked…guilty, under the frozen face. Guilty, and afraid, in case he’d guessed right. “No one is ordering you to go.”

“No, it’s just—I should talk to…” Cloud exhaled roughly “…look, when this is all over, I’m going to go back on the road. Before I only came back here to shed, and when they needed me. And occasionally a holiday when Aeris bothered me enough. I’ve been here almost every day for how long now? This hasn’t happened in decades.”

Genesis pulled himself sharply off the wall. His arms, crossed loosely over him, rose a little and tightened, but he didn’t move any closer to Cloud. Sephiroth had already been still but somehow he increased its intensity. He always managed to do that, to make time and space tip towards him.

“I wasn’t fighting with Tifa. That’s just how we usually do it. She says where I have to go, I go somewhere else in the meantime and I always show up when I need to,” Cloud said. “So I usually have—I have longer to sit with this kind of thing.”

A small, startled snort came from Genesis. He recognized something. Sephiroth frowned at him and Genesis flicked two fingers, then settled back against the wall. “Oh. Fine.”

“Fine?” Sephiroth echoed.

“Tseng can explain it to you,” Genesis said dismissively. “Cloud, you may not be fighting with Tifa but you dislike her idea. I already knew you leave when you need to work something out in your head.”

“And it’s a lot harder when I have this much room to do it in,” Cloud muttered. He rocked back on his heels, then sighed. “Do we have to talk about it now?”

Sephiroth shook his head slowly, at the same time that Genesis spat out an empathic negative. Then Genesis pushed off the wall again. “Talk to Tifa. Or Vincent. At some point. Ramble all over the planet if you like. That’s not the _point_.”

“Well, then why the hell is Angeal yelling at me?”

“He yelled at you?” Sephiroth said, amused.

“Why are you feeling defensive about it?” Genesis said. “The point is, your head is your own. I don’t pretend to have expertise where I don’t have it, and I don’t have any idea what it’s like to live through what you have.”

Sephiroth took a step forward. His hands stayed at his sides, another point, and his voice was careful and low. “You were upset,” he said. “You look better now. I am satisfied with that.”

“Yeah,” Cloud said. He absently rubbed his hand over his hip, saw Sephiroth’s eyes drop there and then darken, a brief, light flush rising over the man’s cheeks. Then Sephiroth looked away. “Look, I’m tired, and I have to argue with Tifa tomorrow. Come on.”

Sephiroth looked back, his eyes slightly narrowed. Genesis was giving Cloud a similarly thoughtful look.

“I don’t fuck when my mind’s not on it, or your mind’s not on it,” Cloud said, almost rolling his eyes. “I mean sleeping.”

Genesis stepped forward, still looking Cloud over. Then he nodded sharply, his shoulders dropped in clear relief. His hand did brush Cloud’s leg as he walked by, and then, when Cloud turned to follow, he dropped back so Cloud’s lifted hand naturally came to rest on his back.

Sephiroth came with them a beat later, and kept a polite distance between himself and Cloud while they walked through the halls. When they got to Cloud’s bedroom, the distance didn’t matter because they all had their own habits. But then he lingered by the side of the bed, looking at Genesis curled up by Cloud, half-heartedly reading the latest history book over Cloud’s shoulder.

“Get on,” Cloud said. He dragged his eyes away from a particularly ridiculous mauling of Tifa’s campaign through Junon a century ago, then sighed and looked at Sephiroth. “Here.”

Sephiroth got on the bed. He laid down with surprising awkwardness, over-conscious of where everyone’s position. Probably seeing battlefield maneuvers, Cloud thought, almost laughing. He leaned down and caught Sephiroth’s arm; Sephiroth stilled, then allowed Cloud to pull him up till he was lying between Cloud’s legs, his head on one of Cloud’s thighs, and his arms and Genesis’ legs overlapping lower down, tangling under and around Cloud’s raised knee.

The man was still gaining back weight, and the loose silk trousers he was wearing had ridden down so that the healed brand was just visible. He looked up at Cloud, then down at it. Then he turned himself a little, so that Genesis’ reaching hand could just touch it.

“ _Nulla_ ,” Genesis said, tracing the letter.

“Seemed classier than a straight zero, which isn’t really right anyway,” Cloud said. He went back to his book. “I meant sleeping. I just never really fall asleep straight off.”

Sephiroth’s gaze went straight through the book. “I thought those were for humor.”

“Yeah, some. Also it helps me remember. I’ve been alive awhile. It doesn’t mean I don’t have to work—to remember. Or to remember right, anyway.” Cloud paused, then turned the page. “I’m not a complete recluse—not for a while now. I come back to people. It just…has meant something different, with you.”

“I know,” Sephiroth said. He put his hand on Cloud’s leg, light but so rigid Cloud could sense the tendons trembling. It relaxed after a moment, settling slowly in place. “I want—would like to change that.”

“Just let me think, all right?” Cloud sighed. Then he pressed his lips together. He didn’t like how weary that sounded.

The soft push of a mouth against his temple made him look over. Genesis kissed his cheek, then sank back into the pillows. “Sleep,” Genesis said, half-arch, half-satisfied, and closed his eyes.

Cloud read for a little longer, then closed the book. He left it on his knee and looked down at the head resting on his leg. Sephiroth was sleeping too, body slack and uncurled, one arm lying over Genesis’ legs. He looked content. Cloud put his head back against the headboard, so that he could keep looking without straining his heck, and thought.

* * *

“Rufus is here,” Reeve said, passing Cloud some breakfast pastries. “And Tseng and Vincent.”

“Then who’s leading the army?” Cloud said.

“Lazard.” Reeve paused and brushed some crumbs off his mouth. “Also, Tifa will see you after. She says that she gets why you’re upset, but she’s damn well not handling it when you upset the people you’re sharing a bed with. Also, they’re not being dramatic, they’re rightfully freaked out that somebody capable of leveling a city is upset. You _are_ being dramatic, because she had it worse that time and she didn’t storm out.”

Cloud took the rest of the pastries. Reeve looked mournfully after them, then retreated to the kitchen, muttering about Kadaj looking like an oasis of serenity in comparison.

* * *

“Pastries,” Rufus said, his lip curling. “No, don’t take them away. The least you could do is feed me.”

So Cloud dropped the pastries on the table, and then took a seat by them. They were in Rufus’ room, where Rufus kept anything that didn’t have to be locked up in a wardrobe but didn’t sleep. The bed was a mess, papers and materia and the occasional knife or bullet rolling around, while the only things on the floor were two small suitcases, still shut. Tseng had taken Dark Nation for a walk. Vincent was around, somewhere. Maybe talking to Tifa. Cloud was pretty sure that they’d renewed their agreement to regularly compare notes on him.

Rufus fussed around with a map some more, then tossed it on the bed with a disgusted sigh. He strode over to Cloud, stripping himself of tie and jacket, and then threw himself into the next chair.

“My brother is remarkably squeamish for someone who blackmailed Heidegger out of the top civilian position in the army,” Rufus said. He slouched in the chair, limbs carelessly sprawled. After a moment, he reached over and undid the top half of his vest, tugging open the flaps to show the cream lining. “If he’s going to be any good in Midgar he’ll have to get over that. I’ve half a mind to lend him one of Sephiroth’s brothers.”

“Okay,” Cloud said. 

Rufus glanced at him, then sat up. The other man reached for the tray of pastries, let his hand hover a moment, and then put it down on the table just short of the tray. The rest of his body twisted to follow so he was draped half on the chair, half on the table, his contemplative face supported by his arm. “You don’t like Midgar.”

“No idea. Haven’t really been there long enough to get a feel for it, for at least fifteen years now,” Cloud said.

“I intend to stay here,” Rufus said. He pushed his other arm under his chin, then pulled it out and stood it on its elbow so he could lean his head against it. “Someone has actually told you what Reeve said, yes? That Sephiroth and his brothers, Genesis, Hewley, they’ll have to—”

“They _should_.” Cloud paused. “Spread out. There’s more excess magic lying around than what I produce. Properly-engineered wards that are big enough and powered with enough moonstones can turn it all from disruptions waiting to happen to a steady supply of power. I can ride circuit to deal with any shortages. Yeah, I heard.”

“I can’t tell sometimes,” Rufus said slowly. “Whether you understand your real position or not.”

Cloud looked at him. “If I wanted it all to go to hell, it’d leave.”

“And your morals won’t allow that,” Rufus said. He leaned back in his chair, waving away Cloud’s snort. “You’re moral enough, Cloud.”

“I’m—” Then Cloud exhaled. He dragged his hand over his face and looked across the room, at the mess on the bed. His boots left deep furrows in the carpet as he pulled his legs in, sat up straighter. “When it’s ended before, I don’t normally have so much company left. I’m not normally leaving so many people.”

“Noted.” Rufus got up out of the chair. He turned to face the table, his hip well within Cloud’s reach but not blatantly so, and looked over the pastries again. After selecting one, he ate it slowly and carefully, making frequent use of the napkins one of the servants had shoved on as Cloud had left the kitchen.

Cloud watched him. The war had left Rufus short of sleep; Cure potions kept his face from looking haggard but it showed in the intense precision of his movements, the slight green of his eyes. He had fading bruises on the knuckles of his hands, and a few short black hairs on his trousers, around his knees. He knew Cloud was watching, but didn’t change a thing. Didn’t make it alluring, didn’t make it falsely energetic.

“Hewley’s discussed going to Midgar with my brother,” Rufus said. He wiped his mouth on the napkin, then folded the cloth into a triangle and slipped it under the butter boat. “Sephiroth will have to go for a while, too. The army still reveres him. And I suppose he’ll take his brothers with him.”

“Kadaj might move around, at least after Reeve finishes reworking the Midgar wards,” Cloud said after a moment. “I think Reeve said something about taking a look at the Northern Crater.”

“No one is going to live there,” Rufus snorted. Then he looked sharply at Cloud.

“I hunt up there,” Cloud said, shrugging. “Couple times a year. I don’t live there, all right, but I have to clean it out every so often.”

Rufus relaxed. He rested his hands against the table, mostly the fingertips, then pulled them away and half-turned towards Cloud. “Given what Tifa says, I’ll be impressed if you even bring a tent. A seasonal lodge would be more—”

“—are you going to just keep using Aeris’ house?” Cloud said. “You can’t run the north country from a courtesan’s salon.”

“I suppose in peacetime people care about such things,” Rufus said with a sigh. He glanced over his shoulder, then twisted over the table, one hand down to support himself. He ran his fingers along the bookshelf behind Cloud, then pulled himself back to look at the smear of dust on his fingertips. “You always stay here.”

Cloud drummed his fingers against the chair. Then he reached out and closed his hand around Rufus’ wrist. He pulled the other man over, pulled Rufus’ arm down so Rufus just started to bend, and then just held it. The dust came off on his forearm and he twisted to rub it against the chair, not letting go of the other man. Rufus turned his arm to accommodate, looking closely at Cloud’s face.

“Keep’s convenient,” Cloud said. He slid his fingers under Rufus’ cuff, till they bumped into the cufflink backing. “I never actually liked it.”

“It’s a horrifying eyesore,” Rufus agreed. He tilted his head. “There is such a thing as reconstruction, Cloud.”

“Yeah,” Cloud said slowly. “Anyway, other people seem to have moved in.”

Rufus pursed his lips. He moved a little forward, then pulled gently on Cloud’s grip. Then he moved forward again, his knees bending, and Cloud stopped him with a hand on his waist.

“Just give Dark Nation some other room,” Cloud said. “He’s your dog.”

“Your room is yours, Cloud,” Rufus said quietly. “Yours, and the same with everything in it.”

He bent and Cloud slid his hand around Rufus’ waist to the side so it was out of the way. Rufus kissed him lightly, almost chastely, lips closed till Cloud teased at them with his tongue and then they opened without hesitation. A soft, trembling noise came up through Rufus’ mouth. It shivered between their lips for a moment, then slipped free as Rufus leaned back.

Cloud held him by the arm and he looked curiously down. “He’s your father,” Cloud said. “Whatever that means.”

Rufus breathed in sharply. He was still and cool, and then he closed his eyes and the fatigue filtered up through the mask. He opened his eyes and Cloud let him go. “He is,” Rufus agreed. He straightened up and began to rebutton his vest. “I’d like the luxury of mourning him, but I will settle for a clean break.”

“You know I’m not upset about that, right?” Cloud said. “Once I got—ordered to kill somebody, do someone else’s job for them because they needed a—a vessel. A puppet. But I’m not upset that you want your dad dead. I’ll kill him for you, and you want a party afterward, just let me know where.”

Rufus inhaled again. He stared at Cloud, his fingers flexing, his pupils slowly widening.

“Moral. Yeah. I guess.” Cloud got up out of the chair and pushed himself against Rufus, curling his hand around the back of the man’s neck. He kissed him, hard, hungry, and then left Rufus slumped against the table. “You’re going to be here when I come back.”

“Yes,” Rufus said.

* * *

“I can’t believe you still run off like that,” Tifa said. “It’s been so much worse before. This is a pretty amazing life, Cloud.”

“Sorry,” Cloud said. “Yeah, I know, I thought it over. It’s just—sometimes new is harder, you know?”

“Yeah. I know.” Tifa propped her chin on her fist and looked at him for a moment. “Okay, Reeve thinks you might not need to do it in the keep. We might be able to get away with using the sparring ring and just linking it back here.”

Cloud reached out and covered her wrist. “Thanks.”

“Well, just remember it when Sephiroth finds out I’ve been watching Reeve and Kadaj together,” Tifa muttered. She frowned at her maps. “Runs in the family, that one? Because Genesis says these things.”

“Shut up,” Cloud muttered. “Gaia, can I just kill something?”

* * *

The shedding wasn’t nearly as long, or as painful, lasting barely an hour, and here and there Cloud was even aware enough to enjoy the view he had as a giant monster on a mountaintop. It still left him wrung-out and boneless in a pile of materia.

“We drew for shifts,” Tseng said. He took a reading just outside of the wall around the sparring ring, then swung himself into the ring and walked over. He had several canvas bags with him and as Cloud painfully rolled over, he began to sort and put away the materia. “Also, as they’re hoping it will speed up their recovery, Sephiroth and Genesis opted to sit in the keep and…soak.”

“Feed’s wrong word, it’s not going to them, but that doesn’t sound right either,” Cloud muttered into the grass. His throat hurt and his voice was raw and thin. A water sack was set down by his head, the neck tipped towards him. He pulled it over and sucked down about half, and then Tseng handed him a blanket. “Fuck. Hurts.”

Tseng clenched his hands on the bag, then, with a visible effort, took one hand off. He picked up a materia—fire-based, by the look of it—but turned it around and around in his fingers instead of dropping it in the bag.

“If I start fucking you, I don’t think I’m going to go through with this.” Cloud pushed the water sack aside and pressed his face into the ground. It was a little cold and he could feel goosebumps spreading over his arms and back, but just under his skin he was searing hot. Gave him a headache, the extremes. “Damn it. I’m losing my tolerance.”

After a moment, Tseng resumed collecting the materia. He carried off the bags and the watersack, and then came back. He sat down beside Cloud and took out a small bundle, which turned out to be lunch. He didn’t offer Cloud any of the food and didn’t look guilty about it, which made Cloud relax. It was just strange, seeing Tseng look concerned over him. Been a while since Cloud had had to be used to that, too.

“I’d like to go to Midgar with you,” Tseng said. He nibbled on some cheese. “Yes, I spoke with Tifa, but I’m asking you because I’m not going there to kill Rufus’ father.”

Cloud turned his head the other way, so he wasn’t facing the man. Another breeze chilled his back and he finally mustered up the effort to shake out the blanket one-handed, toss it limply over his hips. “I think Rufus is fine. We talked.”

“I’m not guarding him if I’m going with you,” Tseng said, in an entirely reasonable tone. There was a soft pop and then a muted gurgle, as he drank something. “I’m not so egotistical as to think I’m guarding you either. But…”

“Yeah. Yeah, fine,” Cloud muttered. He listened to the tension in the silence, then sighed and turned his head back. “I’ve gone through worse.”

Tseng’s mouth twisted wryly. “I’ve seen.” He finished wrapping up the remains of his lunch and pushed it aside. For a moment he was still, head tipped down, eyes contemplating the rips Cloud’s other form had left in the grass. Then he twisted to the side, and came back with a box of bullets and a handful of empty gun clips, which he began to load. “I’m not going to ask about it, Cloud.”

“That didn’t come from the temple, did it? You and Rufus, can tell why you went with him,” Cloud said. When Tseng’s fingers slowed, he snorted and flapped his hand at his back, spreading the blanket a little better. “An hour, you’ll wake me, we’ll do this again.”

“Yes, Cloud,” Tseng said quietly. The click of bullets through his fingers lulled Cloud to sleep.

* * *

Second shedding. Vincent’s turn. He cleaned up the materia while Cloud, spurred on by the buzzing under his skin, managed to drag himself to the side and up against the wall. Tifa had sent up some kind of porridge and Cloud choked it down, then pressed his hands against the stones in the wall, trying to ignore the way his skin seemed to still want to flay off, let out the burning.

The field looked like a blind person had plowed it, all chaotic furrows and churned turf. It’d be a good while before it was in any shape to use again; they couldn’t even cast growing spells until the residue from Cloud’s sheddings had drained away.

“They say one more time,” Vincent said, sitting down by Cloud.

Cloud nodded. His arm stung. He went to lift his hand to brush the insect away, then realized his hand had already been there and he’d been scratching himself, and hard enough to draw some blood. He grimaced and pushed his hands under himself. They eventually went numb and he pulled them back out.

“It’s not the end,” Vincent suddenly said.

“I know. That’s why—” Cloud stopped himself. He put his head back against the wall, then pulled it down and looked at his arm again. Then he wiped the blood away and dragged his fingers through the grass. He’d already healed but that damn itching was still there. “It’s not like Midgar’s _always_ the endgame.”

Vincent nodded. “But it’s always mattered.”

“And then it doesn’t. Yeah.” Cloud pushed his leg out, till the heel caught in a hole, and then he pulled it back in. “It’s weird. You’d think living this long, you would get used to things changing. Except I never do.”

It’d gotten a little warmer, enough so that Cloud felt fine with just sitting on the blanket. He caught himself scratching his arm again, made himself put his hands on his thighs, and then watched his fingers slowly curl into fists. He sighed and looked over, only to find Vincent not beside him.

The other man was already before him, head lowered, eyes lifting just to meet his. “If it’ll…help,” Vincent said. “You don’t need to do anything for me.”

“All right,” Cloud said.

He spread his legs and Vincent knelt between them, flesh hand lightly cupping Cloud’s knee. Vincent’s mouth was warm and slow, careful to ease Cloud to climax and careful to bring him down afterwards, making it as effortless as possible for Cloud. The drag and claw of magic under Cloud’s skin subsided a little, enough for him to drag his fingers through Vincent’s hair and keep it a caress.

Vincent turned his head into it, but once Cloud’s fingers had lifted, he moved away and back to Cloud’s side. He pulled out a book and offered it to Cloud, and when Cloud’s shaking fingers threatened to tear the pages, held it against his knee. It was a good enough distraction for the next hour.

* * *

Sephiroth showed up for the third round, temporarily accompanied by Kadaj and Loz, who took off down the mountainside, chasing each other the moment they had all the materia. “Yuffie would have a field day,” Cloud muttered.

“Lord Godo’s daughter?” Sephiroth asked. “I thought you had good trading relations with Wutai.”

“Oh, yeah, right. That’s more Tifa,” Cloud said. He took the waterskin he was offered and used it to splash some water on his legs before he drank any. Some of the dirt came off, but the deep green stains didn’t budge, even when he reached down and scrubbed the heel of his hand across them. “We go there a couple times a year.”

“I saw the current capital once, during border dispute talks.” Sephiroth looked out at the ring, frowning. His brows flew up when Cloud mumbled an apology, and then he shrugged stiffly. “I can find other spaces to practice. That should be my responsibility anyway—it’s a distraction to you.”

Cloud snorted. He wiped the wet off his mouth with the back of his hand, then passed the skin to Sephiroth. Then he started pulling his clothes on. “You really that eager to go back to Midgar?”

“No,” Sephiroth said. He paced away, the waterskin swinging from his hand, and then came back with shoulders tense, head held unnaturally straight. “I had some duties I did take pride in, aside from what my commanders thought, and I abandoned them. I want to conclude them properly, and I’m sorry you’ve had to take on some of it.”

“Do you want to stay here?” Cloud said.

Sephiroth looked him carefully over. A flicker of frustration went through the other man’s eyes, and then they went still and blank. The skin spun in his fingers. “I remember a different town,” he finally said. “I can’t base a preference on those memories, and I don’t have any significant experience away from them. I don’t…know any place well, outside of Midgar.”

He was silent as Cloud tugged his shirt down over his head. The stretch of muscles along Cloud’s spine spurred up a flare of pain and Cloud sat down on the wall to let it die away. There were more grass stains on his hands and arms. Maybe they’d think he was an alien when he dropped into Midgar, Cloud thought, and then had to bite down a laugh. He’d long since learned that explaining a Jenova joke turned out awkward at best.

“You’ll have the keep back,” Sephiroth said, voice quieter.

“Rufus is probably going to do something with it,” Cloud shrugged. He flexed his arms, then his legs. They ached, but not like they were going to fail on him. “Did you ever want to see more of Wutai?”

“I haven’t considered it,” Sephiroth said after a moment. He exhaled slowly, almost soundlessly, as Cloud pushed off the wall and tapped the man’s arm in passing. Then he moved aside so they could walk side by side down the path. “I will.”

“You’ll have a while. Whatever Tifa does over there, it always takes her two or three weeks to get the politics straightened out so they won’t kill us on sight,” Cloud said. He stretched his arms out again, then cracked his fingers one by one. “I can’t wait to get this over with.”

* * *

The blood dribbled down the wall, over the scorch marks and glassy patches where spells had melted the stone. It’d been pretty simple, at the end of the day.

Cloud turned away and went back into the hall. He almost went back into the room when the smell hit him—thick, endless layers of acrid, foul smells, reminding him of all the ways to be nauseated. The room just smelled of blood and fear, which was bad but which was something he’d gotten used to, after all.

Tifa walked up the hall towards him, her stride weary but relaxed. She had a scarf wrapped around the lower part of her face, and another in her hand that she offered to Cloud. She waited till he’d tied it in and gratefully inhaled through the purifying spells before she hit his arm.

“Fire spell got it,” Cloud said.

“You’re always losing the damn things,” she said. She wiped absently at the soot on her gloves. “We got the city wards transferred over to Lazard. He’s doing a lot better than I figured, to be honest—already awake and cursing about how lousy a job his dad did at keeping them repaired. I put Reeve on the mirror so Aeris can get a break from trying to talk him into taking a rest first.”

Cloud blinked. “They’re friends again?”

“Aeris has been doing a lot of work on Lazard, I think. Also, Reeve’s gotten over his memory trauma enough to stop being such a prick about how he doesn’t care what happened before,” Tifa said with a shrug. She glanced towards the half-open door.

“This one knew one end of the sword from the other. It’s a little messy in there.” A drop of sweat rolled into Cloud’s eye and stung. He rubbed it out and tacky blood came off on his hand. “I think I might have killed most of the twelfth-levels in the city on this floor.”

Tifa scrubbed at her glove again. “Speaking of, why was Tseng so upset?”

“Professional pride, I think? That was supposed to be his replacement,” Cloud said. “He with Lazard?”

“No, he’s down one floor waiting to open up a gate for us,” Tifa said. She looked at Cloud, then leaned into the arm he settled around her shoulder. “You know, we can both go run around. We’ve actually got the coverage this time, and we can go.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Cloud took a step forward, then laughed when she stumbled, cursed, and caught up with him, still looking startled. “Come on, Tifa. We both have people to get back to.”

She snorted. Her arm came up around his waist, squeezed hard, and then she leaned over and pressed her dirty cheek to his bloody one. “I’m glad, Cloud,” she said. “Let’s go home again.”

***

_Three months later_

Rufus is building a severe, elegant mansion in Nibelheim. It’s well into the main part of the town but discreetly far from Aeris’ house—Aeris spends half her time in Midgar these days, but she’s got plenty of loyal people still in Nibelheim and is always talking delegation and branch offices with Rufus—but there’s an actual secret tunnel between the two, and they’re knocking some of the uglier bits off the keep and upgrading the armory in the tower. No point in wasting that great hall, Rufus says.

Since Reeve’s system is working beautifully, Cloud sheds less and for barely an hour each time, and he just does it up in the mountains, at the old sparring ring. Genesis insisted on a new ring near the private lodge Rufus installed further up the mountainside, even oversaw the work himself, and now they all use that one. So Rufus seems to think he can use the great hall for things like formal dinners and trade conferences, and he’s had a huge table made for it.

He looks beautiful on it, the rich gleam off the dark, heavy wood adding some warmth to his fair skin. Currently he’s lying on his back in the very center, spread-eagled by leather cuffs and thick braided leather cords—to not scratch that expensive stain—mewling through the cock-shaped plug strapped into his mouth. His blindfold and cuffs are black leather; his corset is pale blue trimmed with cream lace, with cream ribbons stretching up to keep his nipple rings bound down, the flesh around them tender and dark, dark pink. Cloud squeezed his cock into a cream leather sheath with black lacings, and black straps back around his scrotum, and slipped a black plug into his hole that is just visible when Rufus struggles.

Rufus has been on that table since early morning, bent over it and fucked after breakfast, then made to kneel on top, his cheek pressed to the polished wood while the come was licked out of his hole. He’s past desperation now, pliant to the point of limpness when Cloud uncuffs him and pulls him to the edge, so he’s cradled against Cloud’s chest. When all he gets is Cloud’s fingers in his hole and against his perineum, slowly milking the come out of his bound cock, he only whimpers, his head slack against Cloud’s shoulder.

Cloud turns him on his knees and takes out the gag, and has him lick up his come from the table. He’s a little slow but a few sharp cracks of a riding crop to his buttocks perk him up considerably. Rufus is shaking his head from side to side, sobbing, when Cloud cuffs him back against the table, face-down this time, the scarlet welts on his ass bright and prominent.

He’ll be on the table for the rest of the day, then under it, a cock in his mouth, for dinner. Tseng’s already there, silk rope lacing over a disheveled kimono to keep him pinned against the rug, his legs spread, hands crossed over his belly and well within reach of his cock but far from the thick knot pushing up against his perineum, which is what he needs to unravel the whole lattice. He’s been there as long as Rufus has been on the table, gagged and listening to everything. Cloud stoops under the table before he goes, runs his hand over Tseng’s leg and then toys with the string of beads in his ass so Tseng arches, pushes his head so his black hair whispers urgently across the fur rug beneath him.

Genesis is back at the mansion, sleeping off his exhaustion. He’d been awake most of the night, tied to the headboard and passed between them, and finally straddling Vincent for the better part of an hour, trapped by the knot on the man’s cock while they played with him. Melting wax, feathers, small silver clamps. Tseng had doodled on Genesis’ back with a horsehair brush and ink, revealing a rather pretty calligraphic hand, and then swirled the brush over the tip of Genesis’ cock, clogging up the hairs when Genesis had finally been allowed to come.

To be honest, Cloud feels a little tired himself. It’s a long journey back from the Northern Crater, even by gate, and he thinks he can still feel the cold in his bones. And then there’d been the long, annoying meeting they’d had to have with Lazard to explain the why and the how of the disruption that had lit up the night skies and interfered with scrying spells all over the planet, and how they’d fixed it.

Cloud walks through the hall and climbs the steps at the back, to the room Sephiroth still keeps there. Transition plans keep Sephiroth in Midgar half the time, plus his brothers seem to like the city, even if Kadaj keeps popping into Nibelheim every couple weeks to ask where Cloud is and when he’s going to be back and if he’ll make Sephiroth and Angeal stop doing stupid paperwork and play with him more. Sephiroth mostly has the room, they figure, because Kadaj likes to sleep in the keep so Sephiroth has to sleep there to watch him. Kadaj’s friendly, not harmless.

Hopefully he doesn’t figure out how they christened the table, Cloud thinks, and then he opens the door and blinks. He leans against the jamb and takes it in.

Sephiroth is still where Cloud had left him, on his hands and knees on the bed. His wrists are chained to the top; his legs are folded over a spreader bar that’s strapped to thigh and calf. But Vincent is sprawled against the headboard, straddling Sephiroth’s arms, hands twisted in Sephiroth’s hair and keeping the man’s nose pressed to his groin, and Genesis is curled up behind Sephiroth, pushing a long, fat glass cock in and out of Sephiroth’s hole.

Vincent sees Cloud, arches his head back and jerks his hands in Sephiroth’s hair, coming. He settles back with a hoarse sigh, shaking his fingers free. Genesis glances over his shoulder, then pulls out the dildo and drops it on the bed, smirking as Sephiroth groans. He’s dressed up: knee-high red leather boots, red leather collar, and then he twists over and shows Cloud his belly, and the set of gold rings wrapped along the length of his cock and the weights swinging from his bound balls and clamped nipples. He drags one hand down his front and back between his legs, lazily fucking himself on his fingers.

It’s rare that they’re all in Nibelheim at the same time. Rufus has allies to visit, Tseng has rumors to investigate. Sephiroth sometimes chooses to meet Cloud wherever Cloud happens to be dealing with some monster or magical rift. Genesis is developing some control over the drain—to Reeve’s delight and fascination—so he’s been going on his own missions, and also he visits Angeal in Midgar. And Vincent has made peace with Lucrecia, and has begun going to Wutai with Tifa to help her out there.

Vincent’s fresh back from the Wutai capital, actually, in barely an hour before Cloud. He still smells a little of exotic spices when Cloud sits down on the bed, pulls Vincent off Sephiroth and over to slide between Cloud’s legs. His tongue twines out of his mouth, dragging in serpentine coils across his jaw, and then he lowers his head and begins to work off Cloud’s pants.

Cloud reaches over and unlocks the manacles from around the man’s wrists. He uses the silver collar on Sephiroth’s neck to pull him up for a deep, long kiss, and then to make him shuffle forward till Cloud can unbuckle the strap at the base of his erection.

“I’m tired,” Cloud says to Genesis. Then he pushes Sephiroth on the hip, over the brand.

Genesis goes from disappointed to alarmed, but he’s not fast enough and the spreader bar doesn’t hinder Sephiroth very much. In a second Sephiroth’s got Genesis pressed up against the headboard, arms pinned to either side of his head, Sephiroth’s teeth sunk into his throat. Squirming, Genesis accidentally kicks Vincent.

Vincent grunts, looks up at Cloud, and then reaches out to retrieve something from the pillow.

Sephiroth lifts his head when the manacles click around Genesis’ wrists, trapping them in the same dents Sephiroth’s had lain in. He’s left a long, wet red burn up Genesis’ throat, and once he sees what’s going on, he goes back to it, licking at the bite marks. He moves his hands down and pulls Genesis’ legs up around his waist. The spreader bar keeps him from moving low enough so he cants the other man’s hips till he can pull Genesis onto his cock.

“Fuck him as much as you want,” Cloud says, and rubs at the brand again. It’s faded nearly to invisibility; Sephiroth heals so fast that even with spells, the scars don’t last. Which had bothered Sephiroth, before Cloud had had Vincent score a pattern for the brand with his fangs while Cloud fingerfucked him, and then Sephiroth had seen the upside of it. “You can figure out how much he deserves this time.”

Genesis’ wide, protesting eyes disappear behind Sephiroth’s head as Sephiroth roughly takes the man’s mouth. Cloud sinks back against the headboard, elbowing up a pillow behind himself, and relaxes as Vincent gently suckles his cock, that tongue coiling around it and then squeezing like a firm hand. It’s nice, he thinks, that he can finally rest a little.


	5. Post-Fic: Valentine, Rufus, Lazard and Cloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, with the main story, once I realized I had a plot and started to take that seriously, I cut out/dropped a number of planned kinks in an attempt to wrestle that into shape. Beast!Valentine is one of those things that isn't a regular kink of mine at all, but it nagged and nagged till I finally wrote it out of my system. And for some reason my Rufus and Lazard always end up having incesty vibes.

Valentine loomed over Rufus like a nightmare beast, leathery black wings stretched out, fanged mouth open, a clawed hand resting threateningly on Rufus’ waist. Then he fell upon the other man, his head disappearing behind a froth of white as Rufus shouted and struggled. Rufus’ legs kicked a few times, then went ominously limp as a low moan rose from the coupled bodies. Lazard was terrified and aroused in equally abundant, insane measures.

He’d come to negotiate for help in stabilizing magical fluctuations, since Junon had been suffering from a spate of disruptions. It’d been a contentious matter due to local politicians, so when Rufus had suggested taking the discussions to a secluded hunting lodge in the mountains, it had seemed a sensible idea.

But now he was tied to a tree. His arms ached from how they’d been wrapped around the trunk behind him, and his wrists already felt raw where the ropes bit. More rope crossed his chest and waist, digging through his suit; two of them seemed purposefully placed to rub at his nipples and they were tender and stiff under his shirt. Two more went under his legs, burning at the join of thigh and torso, and made sure that his trousers were held taut over his painfully, ridiculously hard erection.

And Rufus was wearing a dress. An old-fashioned thing, with a high neck and long sleeves and narrow skirt, white linen and white lace panels. Small, perfect pearl buttons—Lazard could just see them gleaming against the grass, where they lay amid the crumpled folds of Rufus’ dress. The neck and part of the back of the dress had been wrenched open and pushed down, baring Rufus’ throat and shoulders and making them look horribly vulnerable against the muscular, monstrous wing that lay across him. Rufus’ hair fanned out from his lolling head like a halo.

Below the wing, Rufus’ legs sprawled in indecorous, perverse invitation. His skirt was rucked up and crushed between him and Valentine, exposing slim white boots that hugged his calves, naked thighs marked with reddening lines where Valentine had gripped. He looked like a victim, like a virgin sacrifice to a ruthless pagan god, and it didn’t sound at all silly in Lazard’s head.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” Cloud Strife didn’t seem to register Lazard’s start, or his subsequent groan as the ropes bit. He was kneeling by Lazard, rummaging through the giant wicker picnic basket he’d brought. Then he stood up and walked across the grass and he had a _riding crop_ in his hand.

Lazard managed to find his voice. “Cloud, please, don’t—”

“Please _do_ ,” Rufus said, moaning as much as he was drawling. He opened his eyes and they unerringly found Lazard, bright and mocking. Then he looked at Cloud. He…pressed his shoulders back and lifted his chin, sensual and undeniably encouraging.

Cloud snorted. He strolled around the two men, flipping out the riding crop so it stroked up Valentine’s back and then angled off over one wing in an elongated loop. Valentine lifted his head, craning it around to watch Cloud with calm, adoring eyes. The riding crop returned to pale flesh, leaving a wake in the sweat streaking over it. The thin leather tab traveled up Valentine’s arched throat before alighting on Valentine’s slightly parted lips.

It rested a moment. Then Cloud slid the crop under one arm. He bent down and ran his hand along the thick gold ring that encircled Valentine’s neck; Valentine shuddered violently and his wings disappeared in a sudden swirl of wind. The gust of air chilled Lazard and brought all the damp patches where he’d sweated through to uncomfortable prominence; under the ropes, the whole of his back, his groin.

Cloud grabbed Valentine’s shoulder and pulled him over, then seized Rufus’ arms and hauled him up. The two men were still coupled but now Valentine lay on his back and Rufus sat astride him, both of them turned at enough of an angle so that Lazard could see their fronts and parts of their backs. Rufus’ dress drooped lower, revealing fresh wet stains on his shoulderblades from the grass. Two delicate gold rings pierced his nipples, making them look very pink. Lazard licked his lips, wondered how they could be so dry when he felt as if an indecent amount of spit was collecting in his mouth, and then stiffened when he realized Rufus was watching him.

But Rufus just bent his head, strangely demure—oh. The riding crop rested on the nape of his neck. It rubbed back and forth there, then flicked downwards along Rufus’ spine till the back of the dress caught it. Then there were fingers and Lazard blinked, saw Cloud kneeling down and slowly undoing the rest of the pearl buttons. The dress sagged.

Under it a white silk corset clasped Rufus’ waist. Lazard couldn’t help but run his eyes along the boning, wondering at the sharpness of its curves. He finally tore his gaze away and had it caught by the tip of the crop, moving languidly up and down Rufus’ forearm. It paused at the broad leather cuffs that locked Rufus’ wrists behind him, then skipped over them to push at the bunches of cloth at the waist, burrowing in and then re-emerging. Lazard looked away once, upwards, and found Rufus staring hotly at him, panting open-mouthed, lips bruised-looking around the wet dark inside. He looked back down and quickly found himself half-hypnotized by the swirl of the dress around the crop handle.

Eventually the folds rose. A little at the time, they bared long, lean thighs. A cock, wine-red and swollen, with white cord knotted intricately over it and the scrotum behind. And further back, just a glimpse of flesh strained around flesh.

“It’s called a knot,” Cloud said. He stood behind Rufus, hand gripped about Rufus’ throat, bending Rufus back over his leg so Rufus’ and Valentine’s bodies were parted just enough for Lazard to see their join. “The bottom of his cock swells, and stays like that even after he’s come. Can be up to an hour before it goes down.”

“Cloud,” Rufus said, tight and strained. The crop tapped at his thigh and he jerked, then twisted his head to the side and whimpered. It was a desperate, pleading sound. “Cloud, _please_.”

“No,” Cloud said simply.

He ran the crop all over Rufus’ bowed body. It licked at the tops of Rufus’ shoulders, stroked over Rufus’ belly, teased wavy lines up Rufus’ legs. Every once in a while the crop would snap and Rufus would whimper again, burying his face in Cloud’s leg as a scarlet mark bloomed across his white skin.

Lazard realized he was squirming. He had blood on his lip, and his wrists and hands felt so wet that he wondered if he’d drawn blood there. One twist sent the rope over his thigh tauntingly close to his cock, almost rolling over the top, and while he knew that would’ve hurt he moaned in disappointment because it also would have _pressed_ and he needed that. He—the crop dipped between Rufus’ legs, behind his balls—he made some kind of noise. He didn’t realize he’d made it at first, that rough hungry sound, and then he did and it cracked something in him.

“Cloud,” he gasped.

“Yeah?” Cloud pulled the crop free. He tucked it into the waistband of his trousers, and then crouched and put his hands under Rufus’ arms, and lifted the man off Valentine’s cock.

The knot was there. Visibly diminishing but still there. Lazard could see the bulge and the way Rufus’ hole sucked at it, reluctant to release it, and then Rufus was limp and free. Cloud laid him down on his back and tugged off the cord from his cock and balls, then stepped around him. He frowned, then reached down and pulled Rufus’ legs apart so Lazard was staring directly at Rufus’ hole. It looked so…so wide, the reddened rim straining around the dark center.

“Not that Rufus has ever made it that long,” Cloud was saying. He was coming over to Lazard, squatting in front of him. “Impatient. Vincent always has to make the knot go down faster. Did you want something?”

Lazard stared at him.

Cloud looked at him a moment longer, then got up and went behind Lazard. The ropes loosened. There was a second of odd, stiff numbness, and then the blood rushed back and Lazard nearly crumpled from the pain.

Someone caught him. Cloud. Rubbing at his limbs and chest and back. His clothes itched and stuck to him and Cloud peeled them off, and pushed them away, and tilted Lazard so he could curl against the other man for support.

And then Cloud carried him across the grass and put him on top of Rufus. Held him up by the waist till he’d gotten shaky forearms and knees braced, then let go.

Lazard stared at his half-brother. Hair stuck to Rufus’ face in tousled clumps, and a thick sheen of sweat covered his skin. He breathed in and out slowly. “You…”

“Hurt,” Rufus whispered. He stared back. “I hurt. Gaia, I hurt, my ass hurts, my hole hurts, everything hurts. And you, you want to hurt me.”

Lazard inhaled sharply. He watched the triumph filter through the lust in Rufus’ eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

He could barely move, but he got his hips down. His cock slid along Rufus’ thigh and Rufus hissed and writhed under him, the corset stiff and unyielding against Lazard’s belly. Hands grabbed his hips, pushed him, lifted Rufus’ legs. Wrapped around his cock and he should have found it humiliating but instead he arched into the hand, arched into the warm body it guided him into.

Rufus’ ass was loose around him. He could feel it clench but it couldn’t close enough and the glancing, uneven friction made him claw at the grass. He dropped his head and something soft pressed against his mouth and he bit at it, listened to Rufus sob. The hands on his hips slid around again and then there was a finger sliding in beside his cock, tightening it up and that was enough and he threw himself forward, his brother’s blood welling in his mouth, and came.

* * *

Afterward, they discussed Junon. Agreement came together ridiculously quickly, with a minimum of fuss, and while Cloud was pushing Cure materia into Rufus’ ass and dribbling healing potions over Lazard and Valentine. And then they had lunch. There actually was a sizable, delicious meal packed into that basket. Somehow, Lazard managed to accept it all.

“I did in fact block off my entire weekend for this, and was prepared to rearrange all my meetings for the following week,” Lazard said. “I brought locals for my guards, so they could at least visit with family while they were waiting. They’ll be disappointed to be recalled so quickly.”

“Is there a need for that?” Rufus was still wearing the corset, and was lounging about in it with a practiced grace that made Lazard wonder if his earlier madness hadn’t yet dissipated. “I did give you an invitation for two days.”

Lazard laughed. “Yes, but when have you ever truly wanted me around you?”

“I did want your cock in me,” Rufus said. He tilted his head, then glanced at where Cloud and Valentine were chatting under a nearby tree. Then he looked back at Lazard. “I don’t want it on a regular basis, so don’t look so horrified, Deusericus. But you and I will be working together for some time, and I do honestly hope that it’s not cut short. I respect what you’ve done so far and I don’t want to break in another partner.”

“You think this has broken me?” Lazard said, raising his brows. He looked around, then leaned over and caught hold of the basket, drawing it to him. After flipping up the lid, he peered around inside and then took out a spool of white silk rope. He uncoiled a loop, tied a few knots he knew Rufus would recognize and then untied them. “I’ve known Aeris for a _very_ long time.”

Rufus’ lips thinned. He meditated for a few seconds, then inclined his head. “Noted.”

“But I appreciate the…partnership,” Lazard added, more quietly. He laid his hand on the basket, then pushed it away and offered the spool to Rufus.

After a moment, Rufus took it. Then he shifted the spool to his last two fingers, using them to pinch it against his palm as his first two and his thumb snagged Lazard’s shirt cuff. “Then stay for the weekend,” he said. “You’re tired. You need better subordinates, and also you take _alarming_ risks with your personal security. Cloud and Tifa don’t guard against ordinary threats and I would cancel this partnership immediately if you were ever stupid enough to ask for that.”

Lazard had a thousand things he could do, now that he had time freed up. A thousand and one of them needed to be done yesterday, and…he hesitated.

“I saw the way you looked at Valentine,” Rufus murmured, his voice dropping low and seductive. “You haven’t seen half of it. Scaly skin, a serpent’s tongue. He bows his head to Cloud, no other, and he can master as easily as he submits.”

He held Lazard’s sleeve a moment longer. Then he smiled and let go. He took the length of cord Lazard had unwound and began to wrap it around the base of his scrotum.

“You’d best look in the basket again,” Rufus said. “I would never allow a guest to go away from my home too abused to walk, and you’ll need to be stretched out to take the knot.”

Lazard bit his lip, then slowly reached for the basket.

* * *

They stripped him again, and this time his clothes went into the basket. Cloud tied his hands behind him with rough hemp rope and pushed his face into the grass. Someone held his ankles apart and oiled fingers lazily stretched him, then slipped a chilly metal plug into his hole. He moaned and they gagged him with a wooden ball strung on more of the hemp, the cord cutting at the corners of his mouth, the ball painfully hard against the soft palate.

They turned him over and Cloud stroked his cock till it was flushed and erect, standing up against his belly. A cold silver ring closed around its base, and another around the top of his scrotum, pushing both painfully away from his torso. Then Cloud roughly tossed him onto his side, leaving him to writhe over the soft, moist grass. He could feel the crushed leaves smearing their juice over his skin.

Rufus was bound with the leather cuffs and slung over Cloud’s shoulder. Vincent picked up the basket and pulled Lazard to his feet, and pushed him along. He stumbled, every step moving the plug in him, his tied arms throwing him off-balance, and Vincent gripped and pushed his arms till they were mottled with bruises.

They stopped once, so Vincent could shove Lazard against a tree and switch out the plug for a larger, thicker one. Lazard closed his eyes and sucked at the ball in his mouth, feeling the bark scratch his nipples and cock and thighs. Then Vincent pulled him away and made him walk again.

When they reached the house, they went into the stone-walled garden at the back. In one corner was a large stone pillar, as tall as a man, with a huge gleaming steel ring set halfway up it. Lazard was made to kneel before it and they put a third plug in him, even longer and thicker than before. When he clenched his muscles it pressed on the place that made his knees weak, even kneeling.

Vincent and Cloud and Rufus went away, and he knelt there, staring at the pillar. The trees threw shade over him so the bright sun didn’t warm his skin and he shivered, wincing against the rasp of the rope around his wrists.

He heard the crunch of boots on the gravel path and stiffened. They came onto the grass and he turned his head, but was made to turn it back. Butter-soft leather slipped against his cheek, then flipped over so he could feel padded cotton. Then the blindfold was pushed up over his eyes and tugged in place against the bridge of his nose, and tightened. Something cold and sharp touched his wrists, sawed at the rope.

Whoever it was pulled his arms around in front of him, then held them while something thin and warm and wet slithered over them, lapping at the abrasions. It felt good and he moaned softly around his gag. But then the thing wrapped three times around one wrist, and at its end was a pair of lips and he heard Rufus’ voice saying _serpent’s tongue_ and he remembered the long white fangs in Valentine’s mouth. He gasped and jerked, and the tongue uncoiled swiftly.

His arms were yanked up and he was pulled forward, until he was sitting up on his knees almost as far as he could go. Icy stone pressed all along his front. A thick leather cuff was fastened about each of his wrists, and then the grip on his arms went away and chains rattled when he tried to pull his arms down. He were already aching from the strain.

Two more leather bands were locked around him, one on each thigh, spreading them so now he was at full stretch, no inch for comfort. A finger touched the nape of his neck, trailed down his spine and lazily circled the plug in his ass. Then the plug was pulled out and a fourth went in. Not any longer but thicker.

He heard footsteps walking away. It was silent and he heard only the breeze in his ears, the rasp of his breath.

A chain clinked. Lazard hissed and moved and heard _his_ chains, but—the other one moved again. Then something touched the back of his thigh, a passing graze like a body moving beside him. The skin was dry and pebbled. It disappeared, and then rubbed against his other leg, harder. He whined and tried to pull away, but the chains wouldn’t allow it.

The monster teased him relentlessly. It was chained to the pillar as well, somehow, but on a much longer leash and it used that to its advantage. The brief touches of skin turned to long, languorous caresses, too hot compared to the stone that never really warmed against his front. Wickedly sharp talons skittered up and down the insides of his thighs, across the backs of his shoulders. He felt the press of fangs into the tender flesh above his hip, in the crook of his elbow, all along both sides of his throat, and a scaly palm kneaded his buttocks, nudging at the plug till his insides felt soft and swollen from the constant pressure.

And then the monster’s master returned, and put in a fifth and a sixth plug. The fifth one was thrust in quickly, almost not interrupting the squirming tongue over Lazard’s left ankle, but the sixth one—the sixth was the thickest, making Lazard sob as he swore his body was splitting up the cleft of his ass, and it was pushed into him with agonizing slowness. Wider and wider and then, finally, just as he thought he’d faint, it narrowed. And immediately there was that thin, long, deviously twisting tongue licking around it, giving the over-abused flesh no time to recover.

Lazard sobbed until he had no sobs, until he hung in the chains and only his dead weight pressed back against the monster’s caresses. It hurt when the plug was removed, a deep empty ache inside and he wanted to twist against it but he couldn’t.

He did twist, somehow, when a cock thrust into him, deeper than the plugs. His insides clenched uncontrollably and it wasn’t enough, it didn’t fill him but then he could feel the bottom of the cock swelling. It pushed against his flesh, then _pressed_ , huge and unmerciful and he couldn’t. He couldn’t move.

It moved. Gaia. It fucked him, fucked his body into fitting it. He felt too-sharp teeth at his shoulder, dangerously close to his throat, and claws scratching at the stone by his arms. He couldn’t do anything except take it, the monster fucking him, its master watching somewhere behind, his body shattering and going limp and still, the knot at the bottom of the cock wedged tightly in him. He could still feel it moving, fucking him. He couldn’t, he realized, and so he stopped trying.

He didn’t know how long it went on. He drifted, hazy, out of the body that was being used so, and it was so wonderful.

The end crept in slowly, insistently. A sudden, intense jolt of pain down one arm. The growing sound of ragged breaths. And then, finally, he was back, empty, aching for the softened cock that was sliding down his thigh. He mustered up a last sob and then shuddered as warm, careful hands closed over him.

* * *

Rufus had to admit his brother looked very beautiful at the moment. It wasn’t a word he normally associated with Lazard, given the man’s broad shoulders, the distinctly masculine cast to his face, but the rich, dappled glow from the fire painted delicate tones into his skin and hair, and the perfectly submissive lines of his body merited it.

Lazard was kneeling by the chess table, his knees cushioned by the thick furred rug. They’d mostly healed him but had left a bruise here, a scrape there, and the wounds looked like ornaments. His bindings were brown leather: a blindfold, cuffs crossing his wrists to the small of his back, cuffs holding his thighs to his calves. A cuff just behind the head of his cock and another at the base, clasping it firmly to the strap that ran down the center of his groin, and a crisscross of knotted leather pulled snugly over his scrotum. A thin band of leather circled his waist and, though he was facing Rufus, Rufus knew that a last strap ran down from it, between the globes of his ass and over the end of a fat dildo spreading his hole.

The final touch was a long, black-scaled tail curving around Vincent’s chair and up Lazard’s front to coil about his throat. It held his head against Vincent’s leg, though it had enough slack to occasionally allow him to turn it and nuzzle at Vincent’s hand. His mouth was still sticky-looking from the last time Vincent had had Lazard suck him off.

Rufus knew how well he looked himself—a fresh, pristinely white corset laced around him, with stiff lace that scraped at his nipples behind the piercings and tormented the sensitive skin of his groin and the top of his ass. He had on matching white silk underwear, the back cut so his buttocks rounded freely around a thin strip, which strained alarmingly over the end of the cool brass plug in him. There was a small heavy ball sealed in the plug, which could and did move at the slightest movement, changing where the pressure of the plug was centered with delicious uncertainty.

The front of his panties was equally tested, barely fitting around his cock and balls. Cloud had wrapped up his cock in snug white leather, with a bubble of white gauze that fit over the head and that was probably soaked through with precum at this point. More white gauze covered his scrotum, stretched tight by the leather bands that pushed his balls away from his groin and away from each other. And then it’d all been stuffed into the panties, sore, aching, unable to get hard and with that constant, silken slide around and over it.

Over it all Cloud had draped a translucent dressing gown, with sleeves that belled out at the elbows and a long ribbon sash that he’d wound around Rufus from just under the nipples to waist, echoing the corset laces. The folds of it had drifted between his legs, tickling his thighs, and the more he’d tried to make them fall out, the deeper they’d fallen.

He didn’t rip it all off because his hands were tightly strapped behind his back, three inches of white leather encasing his crossed wrists, and because Cloud kept one hand continuously on the snug silk band that hugged his throat, toying with the laces knotting it in place. Sometimes Cloud’s fingers slipped up and tugged at the white ribbon binding a brass ball into Rufus’ mouth.

So yes, Rufus knew the picture he made. But he kept looking at Lazard. Taller, more well-liked, and now, he knew, good on his knees.

There was a sharp tug on his collar. Rufus looked up, then groaned as his corset pressed in, his cuffs caught at his arms, the ball in the plug shifted and his cock stayed limp in its silky bindings. His ankles jerked and he heard the clink of the bar holding them apart.

Cloud rested his hand against Rufus’ cheek for a moment. Then he took it away. He pulled out something from his pocket and then held it up against Rufus’ face. A white leather blindfold, padded inside with silk. He fastened it around Rufus’ eyes and then put his hand back on Rufus’ neck, and Rufus settled back into his thoroughly frustrating, thoroughly delightful bondage. He was content to wait in the dark and see who won the game, and with it, who won the right to fuck him. No matter the result, his release belonged to one person and nothing Lazard—or anyone else, for that matter—could affect that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize the prose here is a little purple. Lazard strikes me as the kind of character that would be a closet romantic, as in, he'd totally read trashy paperback romances to decompress after all the murderous politicking during the day, and I was trying to simultaneously get that across in his POV and also parody it a little. Personally don't think I was totally successful.


	6. Post-Fic: Tseng-centric, Turks and Cloud (with Rufus cameo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was sort of intended to explore Tseng's dynamics with the other Turks. So yeah, there's het and f/f in here.

Tseng ignored him, instead looping the bootlaces another time around the top of the boot. He carefully knotted them at the front, foregoing the customary bowtie for a less slippable knot, and then straightened up. 

The boots were excellent quality, leather that was supple but firm. It moved _with_ his legs instead of against them, stretching and flexing like a second skin, except with extra weight and thickness. He could feel the hug of them from his instep to his mid-thigh, pressed close to every intervening inch with not one slack spot, but he couldn’t quite feel the brush of his fingers as he tied the bootlaces. The boot got in the way, soft, smooth, its matte finish subtly glossy, pleasurable to touch but also isolating.

“Let me know if you need a moment.” Reno was still leering when Tseng straightened up, but his eyes were uncommonly watchful. He fiddled with the corset, then shrugged as Tseng reached to pull off his shirt. “You probably want to lean against the wall or something. Heels are pretty high.”

“I’m amazed Rufus manages as well as he does,” Tseng said, and smiled at Reno’s laugh, the both of them knowing very well what a surprise that had been.

“Yeah, well, he’s always had unexpected skills.” Reno offered his arm for Tseng to fold his shirt over, then stepped back. His eyes dropped to Tseng’s feet, then licked slowly upwards. “I think I like your heels better, though. They did a good job, tapers just right, makes you look like you’re just waiting for someone to run their hands up them.”

Tseng braced himself against the wall, palms flat and slightly over his head. He tensed when he felt a hand on his back; Reno paused, then briskly adjusted his position and removed his hand. The man had been right and Tseng had been off-balance. The way his weight shifted on the three-inch heels confirmed that.

It also made his center of gravity bob alarmingly, as if that was a real, physical organ and not just a concept, something that could pull tight and make him dizzy. The boots seemed to tauten around his legs, particularly the thighs and ankles, and it was like an echo of Reno’s words, like a possessive grip.

He breathed in, then out as he felt the slide of leather around his torso. Reno laughed a little but his hands were deft and oddly clinical, pushing the corset into place. They set the dip of the waist and then pulled slowly but firmly at the back. Tseng felt a tug across his chest, a thin but sharp line of tension, and then another in the opposite direction. He looked down, watching how the front of the corset rippled and then straightened as Reno tightened the laces.

Reno worked deftly and quickly, and then Tseng was clasped in leather from just below the nipples to the tops of his buttocks. Stiffer, more unnatural than the boots, but in between the boning the leather flexed and strained, thin enough so that sometimes a muscle was briefly outlined. Tseng raised his hand and brushed it over his belly, feeling that same slight disconnect between what he saw and what he felt.

“You make it look just as good as Shinra,” Reno said. He was grinning, his teeth sharp, the curve of his lips even sharper. Not a leer but a hunger, the incubus showing through. “Think you could pull off the lace if you wanted.”

“I don’t want that,” Tseng said. For a moment his voice sounded unpleasant to him—flat and brittle. He pressed his lips together, stepped away from the wall, feeling as if he’d been caught between meetings and unprepared either way. “I don’t need to try everything he does, Reno. Just enough so that I’m aware of any issues.”

Reno’s smile shrunk but didn’t fully disappear. He gave Tseng a lopsided shrug and then a curiously contemplative look before retreating to the bed. One long-fingered hand dipped to the items still lying there, waiting, and then rose. “You can’t just keep pulling yourself out of it,” Reno said, cocking his head at Tseng. He sounded almost kind. “Come on over, just tell me which ones you want to do and we’ll get this over with.”

Tseng didn’t move. He was aware that Reno was overstepping yet again, and whether he meant it out of kindness or not didn’t matter; an inch given was an inch Tseng would have to claw back later, something he had neither time nor inclination for. But he’d asked Reno to help here. He knew what that would entail.

He turned his head. He only meant to steal a moment to collect himself but the mirror was there, tall and unsparing. It showed him the mold of the boots and corset to his body, around his body, and the way the unrelieved, untrimmed black broke up the lines of his legs, jerked his eyes over the stretches of bare flesh at the thighs, at the shoulders. He didn’t look feminine, not the fragile, tender way Rufus did, wrapped into his sleek corsets; he looked lean and masculine. He looked bound.

Something pressed at his hand. After a moment, he looked at it, and not at the man giving it to him. He breathed in, and then took the collar from Reno.

It matched the rest of his outfit, buttery leather that hugged his throat from collarbone to jaw, held snug by laces at the back. His fingers weren’t nearly as nimble as Reno’s but he tied the knot and then dropped his hands to his sides. The collar rolled slowly with his swallow, cradling the careful shift of the muscles in his throat. It was supple enough to let him bend his neck, but only with effort.

“Come to the bed,” Reno said. He tapped Tseng on the shoulder.

Tseng took a step back without looking away from the mirror. Then he turned fully around. He looked at the bed, at the things on it, and then, slowly, the heels unbalancing his stride, went over to it.

Reno picked up the gloves and smoothed each one over Tseng’s arms, checking that the seam of the mitts lay along the side of Tseng’s hand and across the imprisoned fingertips. He laced them up as efficiently as he had the corset, then slid his hands down Tseng’s arms. The leather was thick enough to block the warmth of his fingers, supple enough to transmit the pressure.

Tseng let his arms be guided behind him, crossed at the wrist. The outlines of metal rings dug in at places and Reno reached under his arms and laid them flat, then slipped straps through them and around Tseng’s arms. He bound Tseng’s elbows to his sides, his wrists to the small of his back, so the weight of Tseng’s arms pulled at the corset. Tseng shuffled on his feet, adjusting his balance, and then Reno tapped the middle of his shoulderblades.

He struggled—the corset had not affected his breathing much till now, but he gasped and suddenly the insidious press of the corset was a hard clamp on him. Reno didn’t help; he stood well away and watched Tseng twist and teeter and finally, with agonizing care, bend over the bed. 

The mattress pushed into Tseng’s knees, sinking more than it supported, and he jerked up his right leg in a panicked burst. Somehow his knee slid up and over the edge, safely on the bed, and then he rocked madly as he pulled up his other leg. His head swung forward and his face pushed itself into the mattress, his arms jerking along his back. The straps caught them, the corset gripped his belly up, and the boots pulled tight across the back of his thighs. He bit at the bed.

A finger slid unceremoniously between his buttocks and up against his hole, then withdrew before he could really register it. “Nope, that’s all just for Cloud. Guess we’re doing this the usual way,” Reno said. A cork popped, there was a gurgle, and then Reno’s finger returned, coated in oil. He pressed its tip into Tseng’s hole, pulled it out, and then plunged it in to the base of his knuckle. “Shit, boss. You and I always have to do it the hard way.”

Tseng spat out his mouthful of sheets, then twisted his head so he could rest on his cheek. He hissed as Reno began kneading his left buttock, humming insouciantly, pumping that finger in and out of his ass. 

Reno laughed and added a second finger, well before Tseng was ready. He didn’t move it, just let Tseng shudder and attempt to relax. Then he pulled out both fingers and pressed something wider and blunter to Tseng’s hole. A plug, stretching Tseng out, burning even when the end of it had bumped into Tseng’s prostate. Tseng hissed again as the broadest part finally passed and his hole could finally close a little.

He hissed a third time when Reno jostled the bed. The plug moved in him, just nudging his prostate. Every clench of his ass seemed to send hot streaks up through him, as far as his chest; the corset forced his flexing muscles to lie still, flattening out his struggles. It burned and he rubbed his face against the bed, trying to distract himself.

“Turn over,” Reno said, with a hand on Tseng’s thigh.

Tseng shivered. Then rolled over with a harsh moan, his head dropping involuntarily back. He stared at the ceiling, his knees sprawled open. A hand roamed freely over him, teasing a nipple, tracing the boning of the corset, and then wrapping around his cock with a pleasurable firmness, and he closed his eyes and just let himself rock into the touches.

Two knees pressed into his thighs, holding them down. The hand on his cock shifted up to grip the head and then there was a second hand and hard, dripping ice pressed over his heated skin. It scraped like knives, all sharp edges and relentless cold, and it ran up and down his cock while he struggled. The corset pressed him back, pushed the twist of his muscles down to close around the plug stretching him. His erection wilted and he was left with a trembling, clawing desperation.

“Warm you up in a second, boss,” Reno was saying. He stretched over Tseng, pressed a kiss to Tseng’s breast, and then crawled back down. There was the flick of a towel—too rough, too dry—over Tseng’s cock, and then the smooth press of leather.

Reno laced up the sheath slowly, drawing it into an impossibly small circle just behind the head of Tseng’s cock and then rolling that circle into an impossibly thin tube. It felt like the leather was squeezing the blood out of his cock, pushing it back into his body where it burned feverishly, pooled in frustration in his groin. Tight leather straps added to the pressure, pushing his balls away from his body and separating them. The graze of a fingertip against them made Tseng close his eyes against a sob.

“Doing half the work for me.” Reno kissed his forehead, then cinched a leather blindfold over his eyes.

Then he laid on top of Tseng, his hands carelessly sliding over Tseng’s shoulders. He tasted Tseng’s mouth like it was a fine wine, rolling his tongue around, withdrawing to suck on Tseng’s lip when Tseng tried to chase him. His hands traveled lower, to Tseng’s buttocks, his long fingers stroking and then digging in, ten pinpoints of pain just short of the plug. Then they went back up, their heat vanishing when they smoothed onto the corset.

The door opened and Tseng heard it, but didn’t think on it, Reno’s trouser-covered erection now pressing insistently into his thigh. But then he was pulled up, his legs spread on either side of Reno’s lap, Reno’s hand closing over his collar, and he felt the bed dip behind him.

“Tseng,” Cissnei said. Her breasts pushed against his bare back, rubbing down till one nipple caught against the top of his corset. She gasped, then made a pleasured, rough noise, her teeth sinking into the top of his shoulder. “He looks good. Really good.”

“Yeah,” Reno murmured. He had Tseng by the collar and was sloppily kissing him, holding Tseng so Tseng couldn’t kiss him back but had to just keep his mouth open, suffer tormenting glances of flesh. “Yeah, doesn’t he? And he likes this so much. So good at it, Tseng, so good at taking it.”

Cissnei cupped her hands under Tseng’s ass. She ran a fingernail along the perineum, a thin, intense line of pain that made Tseng arch, then whine as the head of his cock caught on Reno’s shirt. Then she wrapped her fingers around Tseng’s strapped scrotum, digging her nails in along the leather. She pulled down, then side to side; Tseng whimpered into Reno’s sudden, hard kiss.

“Let me see,” Cissnei said. Her hands returned to Tseng’s buttocks, pushing them aside. She laughed in Tseng’s ear and yanked out the plug. “Get him up. I want to fuck him.”

Tseng’s moan was lost in a flurry of rough hands pulling him forward, shoving him down. Cloth scratched by his cheek, a zipper pushed at his mouth. Then he was gagging on a cock, hands twisting up his hair, using that to force him to swallow. A finger circled his hole, flicking it so the sore flesh flinched, and then was replaced by a blunt thing. 

Cissnei drove the dildo into Tseng in one smooth motion. For a moment he felt her whole weight pressing down on that one point, right over his prostate, crushing him with brutal pleasure. Then she sat back and, before he could begin to recover, she raked her nails down his buttocks.

He jerked forward, choked on Reno’s cock, and then sagged inexorably back onto her cock. They fucked him between them, fighting each other’s rhythm, each one caring only to use him for themselves. He could barely breathe, seeing bright bursts of light behind his blindfold. Sometimes one of them would drag him a little higher and then the pressure would lift on his cock, ground over and over again against the corset, and the hurt would fly _higher_ and he’d sob. And then they’d press him down again.

Come in his mouth. His bruised lips continuing to gape open even as the cock slipped out from between them. Reno chuckling as he sucked at them, his fingers sliding back and forth along the edge of Tseng’s corset, the dip of Tseng’s spine. Then Reno moved aside and Tseng felt his head being lifted, set on silky, firm thighs.

“One way to get in you,” Reno said. “He’s still got me all over his face.”

“Shut up,” Elena muttered. Cool, slim fingers carded through Tseng’s hair, further loosening it from its tail, and then they curled under his chin and tugged him forward, until his mouth was seated against warm folds of flesh, already damp. “I want his tongue in me. You hear that, Tseng-sama? Six months I couldn’t even say hello to you, I was so in awe.”

Cissnei slammed the dildo into him, silencing his mouth against Elena’s cunt. He could feel the straps of Cissnei’s harness, the low buzzing of the spells transferring sensation from inside his body into hers. Sweet-salty stickiness coated his lips and tongue.

“But I can tell you now, I spent a lot of those six months thinking about your mouth. Made some stupid errors, because I was so distracted.” Elena’s voice turned bitter enough to break through the haze in Tseng’s mind. But then she pushed herself up, her hands on his head guiding his tongue against a nub of flesh, and when she spoke again, it was low, throaty, purely pleasure and unashamed of it. “But not anymore. Lick, damn it. I’m not going to think about your mouth because I’m going to _know_ —”

“Such a good mouth,” Reno said, twisting his hand under Tseng. He sought out Tseng’s cock, teased the head with his thumb, pushing at the slit so Tseng whined into Elena’s cunt, found himself sucking desperately at her clit in frantic, displaced need. “So good. Such a good boss.”

“ _Fuck_ yes.” Cissnei shuddered against Tseng, her fingers gripping his thighs hard enough to bruise. Then she subsided. Her dildo slid halfway out, tilting at an angle so it splayed his hole open.

It ached. Everything ached, deep and low, so low he couldn’t tell between it and lust. He moaned and laved Elena’s cunt, lavishing it with such attention that he heard her rattling the headboard as she thrust her hips down into his mouth.

Cissnei pulled the dildo completely out, and someone shoved the plug back in immediately after, so Tseng was always stretched and full, never empty. They turned him on his back and Elena’s cunt dripped into his mouth, her thighs shaking around his head, when she came. He shook as well, twisting his hips uselessly against the bed, his hands wrenching under him in the gloves, and Reno lifted his legs so he couldn’t kick. Pulled out the plug, came in him and then put the plug back, come squeezing out around it, before Tseng could stop shaking. 

They popped a leather ball into his mouth and strapped it in place, and then stroked him down, light long touches over his shoulders and the tops of his thighs, gradually reconciling him to his unsatisfied body. Elena pushed him onto his side and stretched out behind him, and cradled his head against her arm, till he was lying limp and quiet. Over him they talked softly about small matters: Cissnei complaining about a courtesan asking what hair dye she used, Reno telling a rambling story about the time he’d probably met a disguised Aeris in Midgar, with much scoffing from Elena.

Eventually, the conversation dwindled. Elena uncurled from around Tseng, and then Reno drummed his fingers lightly over Tseng’s buttocks. The sensation rippled outward, bringing to life the heavy strain in his scrotum, weighted with unspent come, the tenderness of his confined ribs under the corset.

“Yeah, I think you’re good,” Reno said. His hands lifted Tseng’s head and put it on his knee, while Elena’s pushed at Tseng’s right hip and Cissnei’s at his left, pulling Tseng up to kneel. “You’re so good. How many years at Shinra? So good, so loyal.”

Tseng just heard the whistle, and then the blow landed across his buttocks, just missing the plug. It was a strange, almost numb pressure. Then the pain flared across him, and he gasped and pressed his face into Reno’s knee.

“So dedicated to the most disposable group in the place. How many fucking times did he tell us, we’re lower than paper cups, Rude?” Reno threaded his fingers into Tseng’s hair.

Another blow. The edge of it just grazed the plug, and under the hot, lancing hurt Tseng felt the first creep of cold fear.

“Because paper cups, well, at least you’re supposed to toss those in the can. We’re not even good enough for that. Anyone ever want to get rid of us, they’ll just let us lie where we fall,” Reno said.

Three blows fell in quick succession, starting from the bottom of the buttocks and working up to just below the plug. Then a fourth—not a blow, barely enough a tap, the thin rod just coming to rest on top of the plug, but Tseng shook and cried into the gag as if it was.

“And then the shit hits the fan,” Cissnei said. Her voice was rough, coming from somewhere to the left, and then Tseng heard the soft whisper of flesh against flesh, the wet pop of a mouth. Elena’s distinctive giggle.

Rude struck him again, from closer, the bed dipping just before as the other man used it to brace himself. Tseng tried to bite into the gag but the ball slipped back from his teeth, pushed into his soft palate so instead he choked.

“Yeah, and you get a full load of Shinra’s crazy, and your oaths all break and for the first time, you’re free.” Reno paused. His fingers twitched in Tseng’s hair. “Free. Weird, wasn’t it?”

More blows, working down the thighs. Tseng spread his legs but Rude angled the rod to follow, delivering the strikes in pairs, one to each thigh. He methodically striped Tseng in hits that seemed to burn through the blindfold. And then Tseng tensed for the next and the blow didn’t come.

“So the hell do you do? You get Rufus out, and then you go get us. You stupid, ridiculous fucker,” Reno said.

The rod keened through the air, just as Tseng keened into Reno’s knee, hearing it, and then lashed down directly over the plug. Tseng arched and still, the plug rammed into him. A direct hit on everything that held him together. The world went white through closed, blindfolded eyes.

“…good, so good,” Reno was murmuring, stroking his cheek. “So very, very good.”

Tseng came to curled against the other man’s front, with hands rubbing gently at his jaw where the collar had dug in, over his shoulders, down his thighs. Flirting, once he’d begun to move, with the burning, stinging marks on his ass. He was still bound, still blind and mute, his cock still a stifled, painfully limp length between his legs, but he felt strangely, utterly relaxed. Every muscle had been forcibly unstrung and in that slackness he’d found a kind of peace.

“Nah, don’t,” Reno said, just as someone touched Tseng’s cock. “Just help me get him into the bathroom.”

Elena, Tseng thought, feeling the mismatch in the two’s strides as they carried him. They laid him down on his side, half-sitting against the wall. The gag loosened, and then the blindfold. His eyes stung badly so he just closed them again, listening to the others move around. A towel, damp and comfortably warm, began to rub over his shoulders. Something pressed gently against his mouth and he parted his lips, then moaned as water ran in.

“Shit, boss, you really have no idea how you look.” Reno supported his chin, then shifted to take Tseng’s weight off the wall and onto his shoulder as he helped Tseng drink down the glass. “So. Anyway. Elena’s glaring, you want…”

“I’m not glaring,” Elena said, but a familiar uncertainty had crept into her voice. She didn’t falter in her careful wiping, working the towel up the collar and then around his mouth. She looked him in the eye for a moment, then turned away to get a fresh towel. “Just kind of wonder, sometimes.”

“Oh, like Tifa hasn’t enlightened you plenty,” Reno snorted. He reached out and snagged a towel himself, and began to dab at some half-dried stains on the corset. “Damn, it’s good leather. Comes right off.”

Elena rolled her eyes. “Shut up about Tifa. It’s not the same.”

“Neither of them owe anything.” The water had gone a long way towards soothing Tseng’s raw throat, but he still sounded rough, deeper than normal. He swallowed and then closed his eyes as he felt the collar tighten. “Clean me out first.”

Elena and Reno nodded, both of them looking at him. They split the rest of him, Elena cleaning everything above the waist and Reno handling everything below. Then Elena got up and opened one of the cabinets, and pulled out a nozzle and leather tubing and a bag.

They took out the plug and put in the nozzle, and filled him with water till he could heard the corset boning creak. Then they plugged him back up, and moved him to the tub. Reno massaged his thighs and hips through the cramps, while Elena held his head over the drain and sluiced water through his hair, then dried it and roughly combed it. Then they turned him around and unplugged him and let the water drain out of his ass. He wasn’t clean but he was refreshed, his skin tingling and oversensitive.

Elena patted a towel between his legs and then, to his surprise, slicked oil into his hole. Reno caught Tseng’s glance and grinned, but held his tongue as, glaring at him over Tseng’s shoulder, Elena carefully slid a fresh plug into Tseng’s ass.

The blindfold went back on, then the gag. Reno stood up and for a moment Tseng swayed, supported only by his own knees. Then something clicked at the back of Tseng’s neck and tugged.

“Up,” Reno said, pulling on the leash again.

Tseng stood on trembling legs. The leash brushed up against his back, then tugged around and ahead of him, and he took a shaky step forward. The plug shifted, riding over his prostate; the rough treatment earlier had left that feeling tender, swollen. He moaned a little, but the leash kept pulling and he had to keep walking.

His balls swayed, reminding him of how full of come they were and how badly he wanted to spill it. The head of his cock occasionally brushed against his thighs and he tried to crook his legs away from it, only to have Reno flick the bruised striping on his ass with the leash. And then they were at the door, and Reno was pulling him into the hall.

He didn’t know if they passed anyone. He thought about it, wondered about it, his gut curling at what he looked like, but he was too caught up in all the tortuous sensations of his bondage to listen for anyone else. When they stopped he nearly overbalanced and fell because he’d forgotten that Reno was there.

“Oh,” Cloud said, somewhere to the side. He was sitting; he got up and walked over as Tseng dropped to his knees, leaned forward, moaned as his cheek found Cloud’s thigh. Cloud’s hand ran over his head, down the back to his collar, and then he felt the change in the swing of the leash as Cloud took it. “You’re early.”

“Rude didn’t want to play that much,” Reno said. “Think he’s still worn out from that shit Tifa had him pulling yesterday.”

Cloud rubbed his thumb over Tseng’s cheek, across the strap holding the gag in. “He looks different with all the hair down.”

“He looks good,” Reno said, snarling and amused and lustful in the same breath. Then he laughed, half-deprecating. “Hell, don’t look like that. I’d be on his cock the second either of you…”

But Cloud was bending down, his knee lightly brushing Tseng’s shoulder. He shifted back and then pushed Tseng’s head down. Swept the hair out of the way, then let his hand drift back over the top of Tseng’s buttock. His fingers slipped into the cleft, then scissored on either side of the plug to spread back the buttocks. “Looks like you stretched it out,” he said, his fingertips just teasing at Tseng’s rim. He pressed harder as Tseng whined and twisted, then pulled the plug halfway out, one finger pushing down at the same time to slide _in_. “Look at that. All open. Going to be a while before he’s tight enough again to make it good.”

Reno hissed through his teeth. Cloud kissed Tseng’s temple and pulled his finger out and pushed the plug back in. He walked away, then came back, dragging something heavy. The chair. It stopped, creaked, and then Cloud’s hand was on the back of Tseng’s neck, urging him forward.

Tseng leaned, and then, when that wasn’t enough, shuffled on his knees till his face was resting against Cloud’s crotch. The man’s trousers were already a little strained, but Cloud pushed on Tseng’s shoulder so Tseng held still, despite badly wanting to rub into Cloud’s erection, to nuzzle around the gag and try and get a touch of the man’s cock.

“Fuck, Strife,” Reno finally muttered.

“Rufus is in the bathroom,” Cloud said, almost affably. “He got mouthy. Bring him out in ten or so minutes, would you? I want him to watch.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Reno said. His sharp, jerky footsteps rapidly died away.

Cloud snorted, then settled into the chair. He absently petted Tseng’s shoulder, his breathing slower. Then Tseng heard the crackle of paper. He was reading.

His fingers traced gentle, hypnotic circles on Tseng’s shoulder. They were repetitive and calming and so it was with a start that Tseng realized they’d drifted down onto his chest. Cloud paused, then dropped his hand and pinched sharply at Tseng’s nipple. Tseng flinched, pressing his face harder against Cloud’s thigh. He could feel the plug move in him, a little more than before; he was getting wet.

Cloud let go of his nipple but kept rubbing at it, working it up to a stiff, throbbing peak. Something dropped to the floor with a thump—the book—and then Cloud was leaning over him, teasing both nipples. He trapped them between thumb and forefinger, then pulled up till, unable to stand the pain, Tseng clumsily got to his feet.

He’d not even straightened his legs when Cloud let go and he was left half-squatting, uncertain. Thankfully, Cloud put his hands on Tseng’s hips and gave him direction. He turned around, then spread his legs and gingerly sat down on Cloud’s knees, whimpering as the bruises on his ass burned. The plug bumped against Cloud’s thigh as Tseng rocked and Tseng nearly slid back to the ground. Then he slumped, mewling his gratitude, as Cloud slung an arm around his waist.

They sat like that, Tseng trying not to move but inevitably shifting to a new position as the pain increased. Every new position only seemed to make it worse, until he was squirming helplessly. He moaned his relief when Cloud finally pulled him back, only to choke on it when he felt Cloud’s cock pressing up between his buttocks, right against the plug.

“Get your foot up,” Cloud said, pulling on Tseng’s leg. He actually did most of the lifting, hauling Tseng up by the waist and dragging on one and then the other leg so Tseng was squatting on the seat, straddling Cloud’s legs.

The entire length of Tseng’s legs burned, but worst was the center of his calves, fire running up them as the high heels forced his weight up them. He barely noticed Cloud removing the plug, it hurt so. And then—he sobbed, his raw throat feeling like acid was poured down, but he couldn’t do anything else—then he was sliding down onto Cloud’s cock, his welted ass firmly against Cloud’s groin, hole sore and stretched, and he threw back his head and sobbed and sank fully into it.

His mouth was free. He realized when Cloud rubbed his fingers over it and Tseng sucked one in. Cloud was sucking the soft place behind Tseng’s ear, one hand between Tseng’s legs, rubbing around the harness on Tseng’s balls. “I’m going to make you come now,” Cloud was murmuring. He loosened one strap, then another, sliding his fingers under the leather to massage at the chafed, half-numb flesh. “You feel that? You like that?”

“Yes, please,” Tseng rasped. He writhed back against Cloud, his legs falling open to bang against the chair arms. He felt Cloud lift them, hook them over the arms, and as he was spread his weight drove him just a little further onto Cloud’s cock. “Oh, yes, yes.”

“Good.” Cloud kept rolling Tseng’s scrotum in his hand. The roughness of his palm was almost unbearable but his fingertips were so beautifully gentle, and the contrast made Tseng whine and squirm. His other hand wormed in between them, doing something confusing, but then he was straightening Tseng’s arms out and the blood rushing into them felt like hot acid. “Just hold still, just another second, and then you’re going to come,” Cloud said soothingly.

He pulled Tseng’s arms back one by one, swinging them over the sides of the chair and then fastening them to something, so that they were tied straight down. Tseng couldn’t have gotten off Cloud anyway, but being bound that way, draped over Cloud, he took one ragged, helpless breath after another and just slumped.

Cloud’s hand came back around, touched the leather wrapped about Tseng’s cock and Tseng didn’t even move. He laid there, his head lolling on Cloud’s shoulder, and the laces parted and the sheath peeled away, and it was too much, the sudden loss. He cried out, then fell back, shuddering, as Cloud wrapped a firm grip over his cock. “You’re going to come,” Cloud told Tseng, slowly moving his hand up and down. His other hand was still massaging Tseng’s balls and, ever so sluggishly, Tseng could feel the pressure there begin to finally shift. “You’re going to come in my hands, stuffed full of me. Because they belong to you, and you’re loyal to Rufus, but you belong to me. He’s watching you right now, you know.”

After so long Tseng’s cock was agonizingly limp. He was dimly afraid, so badly needing to come, to unravel the wrenching knot of frustration in him, and he could feel the come pushing up from his balls but his cock was still soft. He shifted the little he was able and Cloud nuzzled his neck, kissed his jaw.

“Oh, in a moment,” Cloud said. “Let Rufus watch a little. Let him see. He’s mine, too, even if Reno’s fingers are what’s up his ass right now. You hear him?” And there was a faint, muffled moan. “Reno’s going to fuck him with his fingers, and then I’m going to fuck him, because you won’t last long enough, not with how they fucked you earlier. But first he’s going to watch you come.”

And then, as if something had switched on, Tseng’s cock was swelling, rising in Cloud’s hand, and he just—needed—

“Watch you come, watch you sit on my lap and spill all over my fingers, right when I say,” Cloud went on, gradually increasing the speed of his strokes over Tseng’s cock. “Because you earned it, you did, and you’re going to come right _now_.”

Tseng came. In deep, racking spasms that rattled his arms against the chair and made him kick his heels into the seat. It seemed to go on and on, like an endless exhale. His spine and hips went liquid, his head snapped repeatedly against Cloud’s shoulder.

Slowly, so slowly, the spasms subsided. He could feel the leading edge of them recede, like the diminishing lap of the tide, leaving feeble, damp flesh in its wake. He suddenly heard himself, loud and harsh noises like an animal and he was only breathing.

Cloud was still pressing his fingers around Tseng’s scrotum, softly, encouragingly, relentlessly. He urged the last drops of come out, drifting fingertips over the wet, terrifically sensitive head of Tseng’s cock, then leaned forward and rested, his mouth warm against the back of Tseng’s shoulder, his hands lightly cupping Tseng’s balls. His hips shifted a little and Tseng felt the shift of his cock, still hard, still stretching worn-out flesh, inside.

“Gonna sprain my hand at this rate,” Reno said, over a ragged, urgent moan. So Rufus was there; Tseng shivered, then, shivered again, his overtaxed body unable to take the minute slide of himself around Cloud’s cock. “You just going to sit there, keep your prick warm?”

“If I feel like it,” Cloud said. He caressed the insides of Tseng’s thighs, idly tugging at the boot tops. “Comfortable. Besides, nobody’s making you stay over there.”

Reno snorted, doing something that made Rufus snarl and then sob. “Now you’ve got the boss all disappointed.”

“That I’m not fucking Rufus?” Cloud said. His mouth pressed to the edge of Tseng’s shoulder, just next to the dig of the collar, then rose. He made an incredulous sound. “You’re four-fifths of the way getting your fist in there, and you’re worried about him figuring out—”

“We all always knew who held the oaths, Strife. There’s a reason the boss ever bothered listening to Rufus in the first place,” Reno said, darkly amused. His feet and Rufus’ thumped onto the floor, sauntering and stumbling, and drew near the chair. “Just, you know, not the Midgar way to just run around yelling about it. Rude of you.”

Tseng twisted weakly, feeling the man behind him shrug. He could only just brush his lips against Cloud’s ear, but Cloud paused, his words dying. Then he straightened up, one hand curling close over Tseng’s thigh. “Just curious,” Cloud said after a moment. “They’re all broken now. You can swear to whatever you want.”

“Yes,” Tseng said, over Reno’s startled exclamation. He twisted again, then shivered as his ass tightened around Cloud’s cock. “Cloud. Cloud, please…”

“I’m so not the fucking person, and this is so not the time, whatever the fuck their authority kink is.” Reno sighed, his breath brushing over Tseng’s mouth. His lips came down on Cloud’s hand instead, where it was pulling some strands of hair back from Tseng’s cheek, and nipped gently at Tseng’s jaw while they were there. The back of his hand grazed Tseng’s leg, and then settled there, holding a hot, feverish mouth to Tseng’s thigh. “But honestly, Strife, have you noticed where we fucking are?”

Tseng bucked and cried out, Rufus’ tongue both intensely pleasing and painful against his sore cock. “Please!”

“Just shut up already,” Reno said, strangely weary. “Like you’re gonna try take-backsies, seriously?”

“No.” Cloud slid his hand between Tseng’s cock and Rufus’ mouth, then nuzzled Tseng’s ear as if he knew exactly what mixture of disappointment and relief was filling Tseng. “No. Just getting used to the in-laws, all right?”

Reno laughed. “Fuck you, man. All right, let’s get the poor boss off you already, give him a break.”

Rufus whimpered and struggled as he was forced away. Then Reno came back and his hands and Cloud’s hands freed Tseng, lifted him off the chair and off Cloud’s cock. Tseng’s hole had been filled so long now that it felt misshapen, ready to close in without anything holding it open. He half-curled in their arms, barely feeling the nails peeling the gloves off, pulling the boots down. He did gasp when the corset loosened, his ribs almost springing free, but then he folded back into Cloud’s hold, letting the other man push him to a corner of the bed.

“Take care of you later, boss,” Reno said with an apologetic pat to the shoulder. “Sorry, but Ruf’s ass is kind of calling me.”

“’s all right,” Tseng managed to rasp. He sighed as Cloud slid one hand over his bruised ass, curved the other under his jaw. He moved shakily into the kiss, then slowly slumped back. They’d taken off the blindfold, too, but he hadn’t bothered opening his eyes and he was right not to waste the effort. “’s your night anyway.”

Reno touched his shoulder again. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. You were good, boss. Thanks.”

Tseng nodded. He stretched into the touch, then fell asleep as Rufus’ moans slowly rose.


	7. Post-fic: Rufus-centric, Cloud and Reno and Tseng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rufus' idea of stress relief, totally unrealistic porn.

Negotiations over tariffs are tedious work. It is an art, for certain, but a shopkeeper’s art, one of balancing the accounts and haggling with both those within and without, and Rufus was not born to run a _shop_.

He dismisses Tseng at the door to his chambers. Even after the successful conclusion of the war against Midgar, the other northern leaders are wary of him. As well they should be, and he supposes that that fear is some comfort against the cramped, middlebrow hotel in the cramped, dull but thoroughly neutral town where they’ve been holed up for the past few weeks. Still, when he steps through the door, he’s already contemplating a midnight gating instead of the airboat departure he has scheduled for the morning. Less impressive, yes, but—

Cloud is sitting on his bed, reading. Rufus stops with his hand still on the knob. He takes a deep breath. His tailor is the best, making clothes that look like impenetrable armor and feel like nothing, but suddenly the weight of the suit on his shoulders is too much.

He closes the door and walks over to the bed. Cloud looks up. “You’re early,” Rufus says.

“Had to throw out another pair of boots. Figured I’d come to my closet,” Cloud shrugs. His shoes are indeed new and uncreased, in sharp contrast to the rumpled, well-worn state of the rest of his clothing. He puts down the book, his eyes moving leisurely over Rufus. It’s not a possessive gaze, precisely—it is calm and knowing, without any hint of doubt.

It’s damnably disconcerting. Rufus shifts in place, then curses himself for it. And Cloud, for keeping his gaze moving without any acknowledgment of the lapse. “Fortunate that we straightened out the tanners in Corel, in that case.”

Cloud looks at him for another moment. Then he swings his legs off the bed. He comes up to Rufus—it’s still a little surprising, looking down at him—and pulls Rufus’ tie from its knot in a smooth motion that sends the tie flipping back over his hand, coiling loosely, like a whip. When Rufus’ eyes lift from there, Cloud is faintly amused.

“Tseng said you were thinking about leaving tonight,” Cloud says. He shakes his head, casually pushes Rufus’ tie into the pocket of his trousers. “I’d really like to catch up on my sleep first.”

Then he puts his hand out and pushes down on Rufus’ shoulder. It’s a sharp but not particularly forceful push.

It’s enough. Rufus’ back stiffens, his pride still not ready for it, but his knees fold. He sinks to the floor. After a moment, as Cloud’s new boots walk around and behind him, he lifts his hands to his shirt collar.

Rufus strips himself, and then Cloud dresses him. Simply, just a blindfold and leather cuffs on his wrists, and a chain to hold them to the headboard. It makes him restless, the cool air on his back and legs, the swing of his half-hard cock between his legs, the slight but persistent drag of the rings piercing his nipples. He pushes his feet into the sheets and thinks about how rough they are, how he can feel the imperfections in the weave. Cheap stuff.

The first touch makes him twist and clank the chain. Hands clamp down on him, pressing his face into his bound hands, and relief is knife-sharp in him, temporarily halving the frustration. But then they begin to move and they caress smoothly, carefully, insistently. They are firm but not forceful, they tease and stroke but do not grip and bruise. He swears, tries to jerk away and Cloud laughs.

Cloud is across the room. There are four hands on Rufus now, still gentle, but if he could not fight two he cannot move with four. They hold him down and two mouths flirt with nipples, lave his throat and belly, chase each other around his cock. He comes in them quickly. Easily. He never stops struggling, his skin still itching, something dark trying to claw out of him.

The mouths do not stop either. They suck at his cock, drawing it back to life almost impossibly soon. His muscles seize, cramping as two opposing forces fight for them, and then shudder as one wins out, as his revived erection pulls his limbs tight again. It hurts—he stops swearing, only gasps into the bed—it hurts, and they keep hurting him, with their immovably careful hands, with their soft mouths, and he’s starting to suspect why.

He comes a second time, his cock deep in someone’s throat, two fingers stroking his perineum, and a tongue flicking the tip of his nipple against the very edge of teeth. A third time, his legs flat against the bed with their spasms, a finger inside him pressing his prostate over and over again as his cock pumps come over someone’s hand. And then a fourth and a fifth, until he can only moan in protest, his body limply following instinct. There’s still an ache clawing in him, but one that makes him want to curl up, hide his tortured parts away from the relentless touching.

The sixth time is an agony. His entire body feels as if someone’s stripped off layers of skin, every brush setting his nerves alight. The muscles in his groin are drawn so tight he thinks they might sever themselves, straining to bring to life his limp cock, his shrunken empty scrotum. But they won’t stop. He finds enough of a voice to beg, but only has it stopped up by a tender kiss. He sobs into it and it shushes him, deceptively soothing, while, like a creep of fire, those hands coax his cock into swelling one last time. He thinks he can feel every drop of blood that fills his cock, as if it’d been taken directly from his heart.

He comes dry. They tell him so, because he is in such pain that he has crossed the barrier between pain and numbness, his senses so overwhelmed they’ve simply ceased. He comes dry, and he falls, and for once the hands let him lie.

Rufus wakes some time later. He’s not sure when; Cloud is sitting on the bed and reading as before. But Rufus is naked, naked and bruised inside and out, for all that there are no marks on him. The blindfold and cuffs are gone. His mouth is as dry as a desert, and when Cloud leans over and puts a brimming glass of water to his lips, he nearly slops it from moaning. The slip of water down his parched throat is pleasurable to the point of pain.

“Go wash up,” Cloud says, taking back the glass. He leans down over the side of the bed; a large, nondescript box comes up to perch on his lap. “Wash up. Then I’ll fill you up, and dress you, and take you on the airboat.”

So tired, Rufus wants to say, but he bows his head. The touch of Cloud’s hand on the back of his neck, like gravel on his raw nerves, makes him whimper, but at the same time he’s so desperately empty. He feels caved in, weak, and he _needs_ something to hold him together, push him out again. Make him—

“Hurry up if you want to be presentable,” Cloud says, as if it’s of no matter to him.

Gaia. The trade talks, some small, smothered part of Rufus mentions. Everyone’s leaving this morning, all the dignitaries, and they’ll want to see him.

He doesn’t care about them, the greater part of him says, the part that is ragged and strung out and splayed open only to be rudely dismissed. He wants Cloud to see him, but Cloud’s already gone back to his book, propping it against the top of the box. Rufus bites his lip, then begins to drag himself to the edge of the bed. His legs are already trembling.

The bathroom isn’t far, but it seems like an age before he is kneeling on the shower tile. The bottles of shampoo and conditioner are heavy as lead, and he almost spills one. He drags his fingers through his hair. Soaps them up and moves them between his legs, clenching his teeth as the slick soap makes his groin prickle as if sandpaper is running over it. His fingers glide over his hole, possibly the only part of him that is relatively free of pain, and he closes his eyes.

Rufus forces them open a moment later. The shower has a nozzle attachment, thankfully; he rinses out his hole with a minimum of effort and then crawls out onto the towels. Someone’s left a weak fire materia within reach, and he has just enough energy to cast a drying spell. His mind stirs sluggishly and he glances to the empty spot where Cure portions and materia had been lined up earlier.

“Guess you’ll go out with your hair like that, if you can’t be bothered to comb it,” Cloud says when Rufus comes out. He’s opened up the box and laid out the contents on the bed.

White leather cuffs for each wrist. They stretch Rufus against the wall, his hands slightly over his head. He rests his face on his arms while Cloud slips the corset around him and pulls at the laces. It’s a new one, and stiffer than what Cloud normally clasps him in; white silk with a faint silver brocade overlay, silver lace that comes to regular points along both the top and bottom. The hem scoops over each buttock, and sweeps low over his groin so the lace points prick his soft, aching cock. When the laces are secured, Cloud reaches around and rolls his nipples between thumb and forefinger, flicks the piercings, until the flesh is sore and swollen, pushed out for the lace to scratch.

The corset is both support and prison, a bond that stretches over his torso and shapes his every breath. He grows passive, less a man than a decoration. His legs spread just from the sense of Cloud reaching between them.

His hole is stretched carefully with oiled fingers. He spreads his legs further, letting himself sink down. The corset’s press travels downwards, pushing him tighter, and no matter how gentle it is, his hole feels forced open. He moans softly, his eyes closing at the way it vibrates in his throat, shudders down his spine and reverberates around the corset.

Once open, his hole is kept that way with a plug that rubs insistently against his prostate. He remembers the finger last night doing the same, remembers how he was treated as nothing more than a thing for pleasure, and moans again. 

Fingers slide around the plug, teasing his stretched rim until it is sore and aching too, and then reach forward between his legs. There’s a sharp yank at the bottom of the corset, at the bottom of the laces, and then he feels the cords running between his buttocks and up along his perineum. He opens his eyes and watches through the frame of his arms as his scrotum is grasped, slowly dragged backward, the pace allowing the pain to bloom up through his groin. The ends of the corset laces are wrapped around and around his scrotum, pulling his balls up against his perineum and netting them there. Then the fingers are gone and gravity takes over, and he whimpers against the weight of his own flesh, pressing itself into the cut of the laces.

He’s turned around. His buttocks shiver against the cool wallpaper. The head of the plug rocks and he feels it in the tug on the corset laces; they keep in the plug as well, keep him full but open, stretched but compressed. His head swims, and by the time it half-clears the sleeve is already halfway laced over his cock.

It’s like another corset. Silver lace over white silk for the sheath, with laces so tight against the underside of his cock that he can count them without sight, and leather trimmings that clamp behind the head and at the base. He can’t even get hard, still drained from last night. It’s not necessary—it’s _decorative_ , this measure, and then it is its own exquisite torture, a merciless pressure all along his cock, with no variation, nowhere he can find a little relief.

All the blood, what little there is, seems pushed up to the head of his cock, making it flushed despite the limpness of the shaft. It is agonizingly sensitive; a fingertip makes Rufus hiss. A mouth, shockingly hot, wet that Rufus can feel in his dried-out mouth, makes him sag in his bonds, a small begging noise falling from his slack lips.

“You probably can’t walk like that.” Cloud pushes Rufus’ cock from side to side, brushing it up against Rufus’ thighs and they feel like rasps against the swollen head. He watches Rufus writhe and mewl. “Anyway, shouldn’t be touching yourself, even by accident.”

“Please,” Rufus manages. He’s breathless, throaty, his voice crammed down in the corset. “Cloud, please.”

Cloud kisses him, still fondling his cock, and then slides on white silk panties while his vision is still dizzy and black-spotted. They’re cut high on the hip and between the buttocks, and they make Rufus feel as if his ass is being plumped out, offered up. He begs again and Cloud slips a hand into the panties, straightens his cock, pushes at his scrotum so it’s all cradled in the tight silk and he shudders so hard he wonders if somehow, despite all the bindings, he’s managed to come.

No such relief. The constrictions gradually filter back in, the vise around his chest and waist, the scratch at his nipples, the complex ache twisting about his groin. He pants, his shoulderblades and buttocks shivering against the wall.

Shoes. Four-inch heels, pushing his hips out, his torso trying and failing to cant against the rigidity of the corset. Strappy over his toes and instep, turning to broad white cuffs over his ankles that Cloud straps tight, fingers teasing up the insides of his calves. A golden ball on a white leather strap, which goes in his mouth and seals away his pleas and protests. A white leather collar with silver rings in front and back, and a long leash of braided white leather that Cloud clips to the front.

There’s a knock on the door. Rufus starts, then closes his eyes. The first clench of his ass around the plug is involuntary, the second entirely by choice, tortured though it is.

Cloud calls back that they’re almost ready, and steps up to Rufus with a mass of dark blue velvet over one arm, a pair of thigh cuffs in the other. He chains Rufus’ thighs close together, so close that Rufus’ body almost forms a circle vise against his scrotum, trapped back and high and now squeezed from below as well. Then he pulls Rufus’ hands down from the wall, chains them crossed at the small of the back.

He pulls on the leash. Rufus takes an unsteady, small step, his head bobbing almost to the level of Cloud’s chest, and Cloud clucks his tongue and pushes Rufus’ head up by the chin. The shifting press of Rufus’ thighs over his bound scrotum, the whisper of silk across the head of his cock as he straightens, the push of the plug into his prostate. The drag of the rings in his nipples, forcing them into the needling of the lace, and the pressure of the gag in his mouth and the press of the corset on his ribs and belly. He’s helpless to it, caged in on all sides, tied up in luxury and sensation. It hurts. He loves it.

Cloud unfolds the velvet into a cloak with a long hood, which he wraps around Rufus. It’s heavy, another way of closing him in, and the brush of the tickling fabric torments the few parts of his body that haven’t already been subjected to such. The cloak covers even his shoes; he will have to rouse part of his mind from pain-bound pleasure to mind the hem. The hood, Cloud tugs very low over his face, an effective blindfold, and the front is fastened shut so when Cloud pulls on the leash, it does not swing open.

By an effort of will, Rufus keeps his head up through step after step. He hears the swing of the door, and then, as his shoulders rise in alarm, feels the unyielding press of Cloud’s hand at his back. The hallway is public. He bites down on his gag.

They walk out through the door, and down the hall. He can hear other voices, some that he recognizes. Diplomats, leaders, ravening wolves who would seize upon any sign of weakness.

“Stairs,” Cloud says. He taps the free end of the leash against Rufus’ leg. “Good. Good. Almost at the bottom. Then we’ll wait for the carriage to the airboat.”

Rufus stifles a whimper. He staggers, his hands curled into panicked fists at his back. He can feel sweat rolling out from under the corset and soaking into the back of the panties. When they come to a stop, and he hears, very loud and very near, the voice of his main opponent at the talks, he wrenches at his bonds before he can help it. But the cuffs on his wrists and thighs hold, and he only succeeds in crushing his balls between his thighs.

“Tseng’s taking a simulacrum out the front,” Cloud tells him. “We’re just around the corner, everybody ignoring us because they think you’re out there. But you’re right here. And if I took off the cloak they’d see that. And they’d come running, you’re so pretty like this. You’d have to go to your knees and suck them all off before they’d go, and maybe I’d have to untie your balls and take out that plug, let them use your ass too.”

The rumble of a carriage covers Rufus’ deep moan. Cloud has to manhandle him into the carriage, his heels catching on the fold-out steps, and his knees fail him as soon as he’s inside. When Cloud gets in he has to shove Rufus aside with his leg. Rufus sways, then pushes himself back and blindly lets his head fall forward.

He finds Cloud’s knee, and rests against it as the carriage starts up. The jounce of the wheels jiggles the plug and the nipple rings, makes his hips swing so his cock head shifts constantly in the panties.

Cloud pushes back the hood. He lifts Rufus’ head between his hands, his thumbs absently stroking under Rufus’ jaw. Then he reaches back and unbuckles the gag, pulls it free. His eyes are dark even in the half-lit carriage. “You know what you look like?” he says.

“A whore,” Rufus says. His voice rasps. He can’t move forward because of the thigh-cuffs, so he shifts his weight off his feet, presses his mouth against the side of Cloud’s knee. “A mistress, a toy. A plaything.”

“You want me to play with you?” Cloud says.

Rufus closes his eyes. The cloak is pushed off his shoulders, but left under his legs. Silk wraps around his head, tightens over his eyes. “I want to suck your cock,” he breathes. “I want to fill up with come, till I can’t taste anything else.”

Cloud inhales sharply. His fingers dig under Rufus’ jaw, and then he pulls Rufus forward, pushes his cock down Rufus’ throat. Rufus nurses it, swallows long and slow, feeling its rise against the roof of his mouth. He brings Cloud to climax and Cloud slumps back, one hand threading into Rufus’ hair.

Obedient, Rufus sits with Cloud’s cock in his mouth. He moves only enough to keep from drooling excessively; still, when the carriage slows, a hand swipes a scold around his stretched lips. “Messy,” Reno says.

Cloud finally pulls his cock free. His hand tousles Rufus’ hair and then runs down to finger Rufus’ nipple, pulling on the ring till Rufus whimpers. “Don’t make it any worse,” he says. “But you can play with him.”

Reno does, along with Tseng, who’s gotten in so silently that Rufus doesn’t know till he feels the man’s hands on his buttocks, spreading them so Tseng can lick around the plug. They trade him back and forth, the one holding him belly-down over hard knees while Rufus sucks the other’s cock. Fingers tease the lace along the tops of his buttocks, push between his thighs and up against his scrotum, dip into the panties to flirt with his cock. He mewls and struggles the little he is allowed; even he cannot take such rough treatment, not now, not when he’s already so overwhelmed.

He’s made to take it. When Cloud puts the gag back in his mouth, wipes his face clean around it, he is trembling and slack-limbed, a doll they move at will.

They wrap the cloak around him and carry him into the airboat like he’s a sack of grain, then unroll him onto a long, narrow, padded thing. One of the couches. Someone drags him onto his belly, then unchains his thigh cuffs. His hips are pushed up and a pillow is slid under him: it is lumpy and uncomfortable. They spread his legs, and chains are refastened to his thigh cuffs to keep them that way, splayed around the end of the couch.

They whip him, five quick lashes across both buttocks, avoiding the plug. His limp limbs jerk to life and he cries out into the gag, sobbing against the sudden, intense blossom of pain. Then they leave him. The pain recedes, little by little, merging into all the other hurts inflicted on him. He hears the sounds of rustling clothes, creaking leather, harsh groans. Someone choking.

“Fuck,” Reno says. “ _Fuck_. Never get over how tight you are, boss.”

“Hold him down,” Cloud says. His footsteps come back to Rufus.

Five more lashes. Leisurely, a hand rubbing over his ass and down his thighs in between each, so he relaxes into the false promise of comfort before the next blow spurs him back to tense sobs. Cloud leaves, and then Rufus hears Tseng cry out.

The chains loosen, then drop away, and Rufus is lifted onto a bed, cradled against a chest, an arm around his waist and another under his thighs. The shoes and panties are pulled off and he sighs. Then he nearly strangles on his surprised, hurt cry when an eleventh lash whips across his ass. Four more follow as he struggles and sobs and then slackens, unable to do anything, held down by the same arms.

“You said play with you,” Cloud says against his ear. 

Once again, a hand runs over his tender, bruised buttocks, tempting them with caresses. He bites the gag and hitches his shoulders, and does not believe it’s over until the laces around his scrotum suddenly slacken, letting them slip out from between his legs.

The loss of pressure is excruciating. He rocks and whimpers through it, only realizing afterwards that they’ve taken out the gag again. Someone kisses him deep and long, sweet kisses that distract from the equally painful removal of the sleeve from his cock. A hand wraps lightly over the exquisitely aching shaft, gently massaging the blood back into it, and then a mouth rolls itself around the head.

It sucks soothingly, stroking the pain into a slow but steady swell. His cock still hurts, so sore the act of erection stresses it, but the mouth and the hands persuade him that he wants it. And then there’s a hand teasing him with the plug, pushing it in and pulling it out, twisting it so it rolls against his prostate. He moans into the mouth kissing him, inches his legs apart. 

The plug slides all the way out, and for a moment it hurts. Then a cock presses in, longer and wider, and it pulls at his whole body, the ache, but it’s so good that he goes slack and the strain disappears and he fits around the cock like a well-made glove on a hand. His buttocks hurt, yes, the bruises sparking when Cloud presses flat against him, but he groans into it and is licked and stroked and kissed until he can’t tell what he does and doesn’t want. It’s all the same.

He gets fucked. Slow, deep strokes, Cloud’s cock sometimes sitting on his prostate for seconds at a time, seconds that feel like hours with that push at the very center of the pleasure dragging on his limbs. His cock turns hard and stiff in the mouth and hand servicing it. He rocks between them and Cloud’s cock, pushed from one buffet of sensation to the other.

Gradually, sluggishly, a thread of frustration rises through the sweet, syrupy haze of lust. He jerks his hips a little faster. Cloud’s hands grip his hips a little further back, a little more on the lash-marks. He mewls, and pushes down so his cock rubs against the prickly lace hem of the corset, and Cloud bites his shoulder, pulls his flinching body out of the warm mouth and gentle hand and pushes him up against a hard piece of wood. And fucks him harder. 

He squirms as his cock slaps against the wood, then mewls against the rough drive of Cloud’s cock up into him. Cloud bites him again, scratches hard over his thighs, and thrusts into him again. Then pulls him back, still seated deep on Cloud’s cock, and grabs his cock and pulls along it in one long squeeze.

Rufus comes. He writhes on Cloud’s lap, vaguely aware of the other man also climaxing, the press of come between his cock and Rufus’ ass, and comes and comes and Gaia, he was so empty before but he filled up.

And now he’s empty again. He slumps back. He fights awareness, wanting to stay in this beautiful drifting in-between, but little things tear at the edges of his daze. The lifting of pressure around his torso. A damp towel running up his belly. The chilly touch of a Cure potion.

“Not—not all of it,” Rufus says. Water touches his lips. He drinks it, then twists his head around till he can lay his head on Cloud’s shoulder. “Not yet.”

“Yeah,” Cloud says, and that alone makes Rufus shiver. “I’m pretty sure I get you for the weekend.”

Rufus shivers again, then goes placidly limp against Cloud. They finish cleaning him, rub Cure here and there, but they leave the lash-marks, the tender hole, the aching cock. He’s still blindfolded, still collared. 

Something wisps up around him, pulls tight. A slinky nightgown, just covering his swollen nipples with gauze. Cloud rumples up the hem to his waist and holds his hips while he’s fitted with a fresh cock sheath, this one all leather, and a plug large enough to strain his loosened hole. The nightgown is smoothed back down, Cloud’s hands rubbing over his bruised ass, teasing between the hem and the bottom of his buttocks, which is where it ends. Someone else unchains his wrists, draws his arms forward, and then slips each hand into sleek leather mitts that close his fingers and thumbs together. They cross his wrists over his belly and pull his leash down to tie his wrists in place, while someone else rechains his thigh cuffs together.

“Gag him?” Reno says.

“Yeah, okay,” Cloud says, as Rufus opens his mouth.

Reno does it with a wide ribbon, crossing it up to run once over the blindfold, too. When he’s done, Rufus lets his head fall back. He’s dead weight as Cloud drags him back, lies down with him tucked up to Cloud’s chest, Cloud’s hand slipping under the nightgown to wrap loosely over his scrotum. Another body pushes up to his front, pressing so he can feel the lattice of rope wrapped around it. Tseng kisses him over the ribbon; Cloud’s fingers stretch past his balls to catch the head of Tseng’s cock, pulling it so it just kisses his scrotum.

“Best eating of my life,” Reno sighs happily, as Rufus and Tseng both moan. “Almost makes me not want to sleep.”

“You’re not going to miss anything,” Cloud says. “We’re not fucking again till we get there.”

“That’s another two hours,” Reno says, and he laughs when Tseng whines. “Sorry, boss. Fuck, I love my job.”

“Shut up,” Cloud mutters. His mouth presses against Rufus, overlapping with the bite marks he’s left. It moves a little as Rufus shudders, then lifts. His breathing starts to slow, hypnotic and warm against Rufus’ neck, and against his will, entirely at the other man’s pleasure, Rufus follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really, really trying to get the last of corset kink out of my system. I _was_ running out of ways to describe them.


	8. Post-Fic: Sephiroth and Genesis, with Cloud and Aeris assist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exploring the whole Genesis-Sephiroth rivalry after they'd chilled out a little and now have Cloud as a buffer.

Neither would ever admit it, but they were both intensely glad when enough of their magic returned for them to spar at full force. Fighting without magic was, of course, a workout on its own, and—disturbingly often around Cloud or Tifa—a necessary skill. But they’d been intended since birth to fight with all gifts at their command, to use magic not as a tool but as another sense, and whatever the agenda behind it, they’d become accustomed to it. Not having it was like cutting out an eye.

And, admittedly, a lack of magic made the fights too tame for either of them. They were well away from the low point of their friendship, and neither of them had an interest in returning to that. But they _were_ rivals, and Genesis doubted that that uneasy, constantly shifting edge would ever go away.

Anyway, it was better with the uncertainty. Part of the reason why it’d gone so near to disaster before had been complacency—on both sides. Contrary to the belief of many, including dear Angeal, Genesis was capable of self-reflection. He’d seen very well how his blinkered view of his rivalry with Sephiroth, and of what it should be, for him and for the other man, had twisted his pride and made him vulnerable to Heidegger’s manipulations. If he’d been less worried about what Sephiroth thought of him, less worried about making the other man acknowledge he was better, he’d have raised his head and seen that damned hidden trigger.

He didn’t need Sephiroth’s regard to know when he was better. If nothing else, Cloud had done him the salutary favor of showing him the truth about himself, and then making him sit with it till he understood.

Cloud had also done him the immense favor of introducing him to many things that Sephiroth, for all his iron composure, couldn’t help but balk at. Temporarily. The man hadn’t changed that much.

They’d had to call the first duel a draw, due to Tuesti’s unfortunate interruption. Frankly, Genesis was going to encourage Tuesti’s relationships with Tifa and Kadaj simply because it kept the damn man too busy to tinker with his magical redistribution system. It worked; he didn’t need to keep working on it.

The second duel, Tuesti had thankfully been out of town, and it had ended with Genesis winning. Which wasn’t that much of a surprise, although only Cloud seemed to agree; Sephiroth had more raw power in all respects, but he was very used to operating from a position of strength. He was not used to recovering from a prolonged lack of magic and had misjudged several spells, allowing Genesis an opening that he’d immediately seized. And now he and Genesis were standing in Cloud’s bedroom, in front of one of Cloud’s shockingly well-stocked wardrobes.

“I agreed to this,” Sephiroth muttered after a moment, looking over the items. He wasn’t staring; he was blinking regularly, his face apparently calm. But a _verbal_ outburst? “No, Genesis, I am not disputing it.”

“Still so quick to judge,” Genesis said.

Sephiroth was silent. He gazed over the tray, then lifted one of the rods from its velvet bed, his thumb sliding over the grooves and ridges as it’d slide over the hilt of his sword.

“You feel the weight, mostly,” Genesis said, watching the other man’s face. “If it’s slow, if there’s enough oil. The weight, and the pressure.”

“You’ve taken it,” Sephiroth said. He turned to look at Genesis, keeping the rod.

And Sephiroth took it. Later, after he’d knelt blindfolded and bound at Genesis’ feet, bent at the waist over a long line of boots, carefully licking over creases and scuffs and laces. They’d been kind; they’d let him lap water from a bowl in between each pair, the hand on his leash giving him plenty of time to drink. Gentle tugs on his collar to shuffle him from one boot to the next, the occasional caress down his bare back, past his manacled hands to tease at the waistband of his trousers. Black trousers, heavyweight cloth, the same as any soldier would wear when on field duty.

Stripped off him later, thrown carelessly into the corner while he twisted on chains in the middle of the room. Naked, his wrists high over his head, his knees and ankles chained down and well apart. They took turns using his mouth and his ass till come coated his face like a mask, stuck his hair to his back in long uneven stripes, rough, uncaring of the hard cock that jutted up against his belly. Sometimes they’d pinch and pull on a nipple, leaving it soft and swollen, or fondle his balls, scratching them till thin red lines latticed the delicate pale skin. He’d moan or choke, swaying between two bodies, barely given a second to breathe, let alone protest.

His hole was stretched and red, the tender rim burning against the back of Genesis’ hand. So much use had widened it considerably, and Genesis’ hand was slim and folded even slimmer, but still, Sephiroth arched his back as if Genesis was pressing into his heart. His head lolled against his arms, then jerked as his hole sucked down around Genesis’ wrist.

And yes, he was taking it, when Genesis moved and looked around his slumped form. Taking it well, the thin, ridged rod being slowly fed into the slit of his cock by Cloud. One shiver after another rippled down his body. His knees shifted the little they could, every time the top of a ridge disappeared into his cock and the edges of the slit closed down into the groove before the next. He took it, until the rod was sunk into him to the ring that topped its head.

Genesis moved his fist inside Sephiroth and the rod withdrew, then pushed back in; accordingly, Genesis pulled his fist till he could feel the man’s hole just beginning to strain over his hand. He pushed it back in and the rod went out, and between them they fucked Sephiroth, hole and cock, until Sephiroth was rattling the chains incessantly, exhaustion overcome by sheer torment.

The rod withdrew completely. A little come beaded out around it, then more, and then the sound was out and come was dribbling onto the floor, as if the sound had hooked it out. Sephiroth’s moans took on an agonized note and Genesis kissed his back softly, knowing full well what the other man was only just realizing.

After a careful wiping, they slipped the rod back in, and then closed a gleaming metal tube tightly around his cock, locking it with a ring around his scrotum, a half-ring over the cock head and through the ringed head of the sound. Genesis pulled his hand out of Sephiroth, twisting so his knuckles dragged a farewell over the man’s prostate. They left him like that for a while, long enough for his body to heal, to tighten up again, and then they started the next round. He took it well, took them all well.

Genesis lost their next match, admittedly through his own error. He’d noted Sephiroth’s—expected—rapid improvement in casting and had started aggressively, throwing some of the most powerful spells he knew. They’d drained him. Of course they’d drained him. Spellcasting always drained one. But he’d felt the shadow of that clawing, insatiable hunger, had mistaken the nightmare for the return, and had panicked. He was not ashamed of himself, merely frustrated. Which, no matter what he said, did color the forfeit Sephiroth chose for him.

“I understand the appeal,” Sephiroth said, and gave Genesis the glove with only a cursory glance. “In the end it’s not so different, this type of difference in power. I’m only surprised it looks so well on you.”

Genesis smoothed the glove up his forearm and over his elbow, pausing to occasionally rub off the powder gathering on his fingers. He held the top in place and flexed it, then adjusted the way the seam laid. “I hope you recognize the effect of style,” he said. “Rufus prefers his virginal lace and heirloom silks because it suits him, playing the victim. I prefer this, because I am not a victim.”

“No.” Sephiroth touched the other glove, still in its tissue-paper bed. “No, you’re not.”

He was a thing for comfort, for pleasure. Red leather corset squeezing him from nipples to waist, smooth and buttery, making it easy to slide him across the sheets. Matching gloves encased his arms and laced them behind his back, wrist to elbow, and then straps to keep his mitted fingers cupped tightly over the elbow. Bent like that, his arms bowed his back, pushed his hips up, made his buttocks plump in the red leather shorts. Like a second skin, the shorts, almost paper-thin but secure and snug, with a hidden inside pouch that folded his cock back between his legs, secret straps that compressed his scrotum, thwarting erections while leaving his groin flat and smooth, a tempting place to caress.

Easy, was what the shorts made him. They clung to his buttocks, just covering the swells, while the slit in the back released the tension just enough for the shorts to pull the halves of his ass apart.

He was blindfolded. Gagged for a while, tasting the pungent rubber while hands pinched and stroked his thighs, pulled the collar on his throat, probed into the slit of his shorts. They passed him back and forth, fucking him on their fingers and their cocks, and then they pulled out the gag and fucked his mouth with a cock, fucked his ass with three broad fingers. His nipples were twisted, clamped with chilly toothed metal. The heel of a hand ground down slowly on the front of his shorts, making the leather strain around his imprisoned cock. He whimpered around the cock in his mouth and it flooded come over his tongue.

They stopped up the come in his mouth with the gag, stopped it up in his ass with a plug. He was dragged this way and that over the slippery sheets, petted and caressed and teased. Pulled into a lap, his legs splayed wide, sucking mouths working up his shaking thighs, hard fingers hauling back his head by the hair. Pushed into a chest, large hands squeezing his buttocks, rubbing them against the plug. Dropped into the middle of the bed again, gag and plug out, his mouth and hole stopped up with cocks instead. He served them, writhing, unable to do otherwise. That was what he was.

Sephiroth won the third match. It was a hard, long duel, and at the end, as soon as Genesis dismissed his sword, Sephiroth did the same and twisted himself off his knees to lie on the grass beside Genesis. They both just panted for several minutes.

“Do the actors not act as much for each other as for the audience? They cannot see the whole stage, they cannot see themselves, but they see each other,” Sephiroth eventually observed.

Genesis laughed, and then laughed again when Sephiroth turned to him. “Oh, my friend,” he said. “At last.”

Sephiroth continued to regard him. Irritation bled slowly, inevitably, into a different kind of warmth.

“I may have been unclear before,” Sephiroth said. “But I want to see you. And you want to see me, and we both want to be seen.”

The room was simple and spare, with plain wooden walls and a woven-reed mat that sank slightly underfoot. Sephiroth stepped onto it first, walking to the small, low table at the far end of the mat. He disrobed and set his yukata aside, then knelt by the table. He brushed his hair till it was a glossy mass over his back, then twisted it up and over itself, again and again till it was all bound into a knot at the back of his head, and secured with delicate silver pins. Two of the pins jutted out further from the rest, looking precariously close to slipping loose and unraveling the whole thing, but the knot held as Sephiroth stood up.

He bound himself in cord made from braided black silk, tightening each knot and length calmly, only the occasional sharp breath betraying him. A few rounds about the waist, a cord bisecting the front of his groin, coiling around the base of his cock and then weaving up its length, trapping it limp and snug against his belly. A net about his scrotum, and a separate length from that up between his buttocks to hold the ivory cock in his hole. His pupils widened and softened.

His skin was warm against Genesis’ hands, despite the chill of the room, the pattern of the cords encouraging his magic to spread out all over his body. He inhaled deeply as Genesis unrolled the translucent, milky silk of the underwrap around his waist.

The underwrap stretched from waist to knee, and kept the overlayers from sticking to the skin. Genesis fastened it tightly, then picked up the remaining silk cords as Sephiroth knelt down in front of him. He looked at the other man, then also knelt, holding the cords out so they brushed over Sephiroth’s face and chest; Sephiroth’s eyes drifted shut.

He bound each leg, starting at the ankle and stretching a length up to the knee, where the underwrap had pulled up just enough to wrap two rounds of the cord. Then another length between the legs, back down to the ankle. When he finished, Sephiroth put out his arms to either side, straight and at the level of the shoulders, eyes still closed.

Genesis put the underrobe and kimono on the other man. The kimono was a deep grey, the color of storm skies, with a subtle watering that glimmered across the otherwise matte silk, while the underrobe was a riot of scarlets and oranges over a red base. When the layers were settled correctly, the grey everywhere except for a sliver along the collar and down the front where the layers folded over each other, and a tantalizing wedge up his thighs, it looked as if Sephiroth had flames licking along him.

He blindfolded Sephiroth before moving on, using a strip of grey silk that matched the kimono, careful that the knot was tight and firm, but didn’t dislodge the knot of hair just below it. Then he went around behind the other man and drew his arms back. He pulled out the cuffs of the underrobe, which flared out several inches beyond those of the kimono, and folded them back over the grey silk so Sephiroth’s forearms emerged from fire. Sephiroth crossed his wrists and Genesis tied them in place with more of the silk cord, lacing the ends up Sephiroth’s arms to the elbow, where he bound them off.

When the door opened, he was walking one last time around Sephiroth, looking over the kimono, making sure none of Sephiroth’s legs were visible. The kimono was cut for a courtesan, the collar artfully drooping off the shoulders to expose the first few inches of back, all of the vulnerable throat. In the front, the parted layers brushed just up to Sephiroth’s nipples, already peaked. Genesis bent down and locked smooth silver rings over each, drawing them out so they flushed and swelled, and then stepped back into a smooth kneel across from Sephiroth.

Two sets of footsteps came towards them, one light and slippery, the other a heavy-booted tread. They stopped just behind Sephiroth. He was breathing slowly and calmly, but Genesis saw the slight quiver in the throat.

Then Sephiroth bent over as if his spine was a willow rod, and Aeris set down the wooden tray on his back, while Cloud got to one knee beside him, a delicate silver chain in one hand, a gift for a mistress. Genesis watched Cloud clip the chain to each nipple and thread the middle through a small hook in the floor. The chain was already taut.

On the tray was a tea set for two, cups and saucers, a steam teapot in a padded silk cozy. A small wooden canister, a bamboo whisk, tiny teaspoons. Sephiroth’s head bobbed, then steadied as he sucked in a breath. Cloud ran the back of his hand across Sephiroth’s shoulderblades, the strip that emerged from under the tray, and Sephiroth breathed out as if the air was fragile as glass.

The table still held things. Cloud went over to it next and emptied it, item by item. He wrapped cords of braided red silk around Genesis, binding his cock and balls just as Genesis had bound Sephiroth’s. A string of oiled carnelians were pushed into Genesis’ hole, bead by bead, until it seemed he could feel their shifting press throughout his entire gut. His yukata was removed and he was dressed in underwrap, underrobe, kimono. Red over black for him, with silhouettes of falling leaves picked out over his kimono in black silk thread. The cut was the same, thrusting his bare shoulders and neck out, dipping over his back so the cool air stroked down his spine.

He wasn’t blindfolded, and his hands and feet were left unbound. They felt naked, but when he rubbed at his wrist Cloud looked at him. Genesis bit his lip and bowed his head.

Cloud and Aeris seated themselves on either side of Sephiroth. They chatted—mostly Aeris chatted, telling Cloud about how much she’d enjoyed their stay in Wutai so far, how she had spent a fortune in the market and would need another to shop in the libraries and bookstores. A few minutes in, she finally lifted her hand.

Genesis came over and knelt at Sephiroth’s head. He wrapped up his sleeves around his upper arms and then reached across the tray, waving his finger through the steam issuing from the teapot. It was acceptably hot, so he lifted the lid from the wooden canister. He measured out spoonfuls of green tea into cups, added water.

When he reached for the whisk, Cloud picked it up first. The other man tapped it against Sephiroth’s nape—Sephiroth moaned quietly, the nipple chain jingling—then turned it over and tapped it again. Then he handed it to Genesis and brushed the dust from Sephiroth’s neck.

Genesis took the whisk with lowered eyes. He stirred up the tea to a frothy, deep green, then handed the other two their cups and saucers. Cloud drank his right away, but Aeris swished her first sip around in her mouth, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Decent,” she finally said. She shook her head when Genesis immediately reached out. “No, no need to make me another. But Cloud…”

“I don’t notice,” Cloud said, but he was nodding. He looked at Genesis. “Turn around.”

Mindful of the long kimono, Genesis turned himself around so he was facing away from Cloud. He unwrapped his sleeves and let them fold over the floor as he bent down, his palms flat against the mat, forehead centered between them.

Cloud pushed up the kimono, then the underrobe. His hand slid across Genesis’ buttocks, making Genesis shiver, and then tugged until the underwrap came away. He pushed the overlayers up even higher onto Genesis’ back, baring his ass, and then began to play with the pleasure beads. The cord between Genesis’ buttocks stretched enough to allow Cloud to work a bead out, let the cord snap back in place, then worm the bead back under it and into Genesis’ clenching hole.

Genesis tried and failed not to press back into it. The beads rolled back and forth inside him, slipping teasingly across his prostate. The spaces between the beads deceived his body into thinking it could safely relax, only for the beads to press him back open. He hissed at first, then moaned, and then mewled.

“All right, I’ll take this,” Aeris said, over the clatter of porcelain. “Can’t break our host’s best pieces.”

“You need to hold still,” Cloud sighed, disappointed.

He pushed the last bead back into Genesis, then wrapped his hand over Genesis’ arm and pulled Genesis back around. The tray off his back, Sephiroth was squirming unashamedly, bitten-off whimpers coming from him. He groaned as Cloud pulled the chain off his nipples and allowed him back up.

Aeris walked away with the tray. Cloud pushed Genesis down by the arm, making him prostrate himself over his knees, and then got up and went to Sephiroth. He pulled the blindfold off Sephiroth’s eyes and let it droop till it encircled Sephiroth’s throat. Using the makeshift collar and leash, he forced Sephiroth backwards till the man was lying on the mat, his kimono rumpled up to show his folded, bound legs.

Cloud stripped Sephiroth of the underwrap, pushing the man’s legs apart with one boot. Sephiroth turned his head to the side, caught Genesis’ eye, then arched and moaned as Cloud nudged his scrotum with a boot-tip.

Aeris came back with another, much smaller tray, holding clamps and needles and bits of jewelry. She waited till Cloud had untied Sephiroth’s cock from his belly, then set the tray down on Sephiroth’s belly.

“Over here,” Cloud said, and Genesis crawled on his belly to the man’s side.

He rested his head on Cloud’s thigh as Cloud picked up one instrument, then another. A swipe of alcohol up Sephiroth’s rapidly flushing cock, the fixing of clamps. Then, in quick succession, Cloud pierced the underside of Sephiroth’s cock with five parallel silver bars, each bar double-headed with balls. Sephiroth’s body stayed still but he let out a long, keening cry, jagged in five places.

“Stick out your tongue,” Cloud said.

Genesis stuck out his tongue. The tingling, astringent taste of a Cure potion was dribbled onto it, and then he was pushed towards Sephiroth. He smeared the thick stuff across the piercings with his tongue and mouth, working it in around each hole, and then massaged it in with long flat presses of the tongue. Sephiroth jerked his hips, strangled noises coming from him.

When Cloud pulled Genesis back, the flesh around the piercings still looked tender but Cloud twisted one ball and the bar rotated easily. Cloud hummed approvingly, his hands sliding down Genesis’ arms.

He pulled them back behind Genesis, binding them with more of the silk cord. Then he hauled up Genesis by the kimono, walking him over Sephiroth till he was straddling the man’s chest but not sitting on it. Genesis felt the rope between his buttocks move, then fall away, and then, before he could brace himself, one pleasure bead after another popping swiftly out of him.

His body stiffened only after the last had already left him, clenching down on nothing. He twisted and cried out, then sagged as it became clear Cloud wouldn’t push the beads back in. His hips were guided down but he ignored it until a blunt, slick cock head suddenly pressed up through the bunches of silk. Genesis jerked up; Cloud moved his hands to Genesis’ hips and forced him onto Sephiroth’s cock in one quick motion.

They both cried out, Sephiroth writhing against the mat, Genesis shivering on limp legs as those—the piercings were moving in him. He could feel them rolling over his prostate just as the beads had, only much smaller, much more pointed pressure. He tried to push himself up and Cloud held him down.

Cloud tied him to the other man, looping silk cord in figure-eights between their legs and waists. One loop tugged at the bindings on his cock; he’d felt the low, frustrated ache there but it had been pushed to the background, with all the other sensations inflicted on him. But now—

—he had to come, he needed to. He opened his mouth to beg for it and Cloud slipped a gag into it. Brushed two fingertips over his shoulder, getting up and walking away from his desperate whimpering. Cloud got down and pulled the pins out of Sephiroth’s hair, spreading it playfully around Sephiroth’s head as the other man shook it pleadingly, asking Cloud not to leave them in a ragged voice.

He quieted as Cloud leaned over him. They kissed, Sephiroth’s struggles turning to slow, almost languid rocking that rubbed his piercings infuriatingly against Genesis’ prostate, and then Cloud straightened up and three rounds of silk cord were wrapped into Sephiroth’s open, moaning mouth.

“They look like art, don’t they?” Aeris said in a hushed voice. She was still there, Genesis had forgotten. She looked at them with eyes shining brightly, her hands clasped together. “A centerpiece.”

“Just for here, for whenever I feel like coming in and looking at it,” Cloud said. He ran his hand affectionately down Sephiroth’s cheek, then got to his feet.

Genesis mewled around the silk in his mouth and Cloud came over, brushed his hands across Genesis’ shoulders. Played with his nipples as he pressed his face to Cloud’s shoulder.

“Somebody will come and get you before I go to bed,” Cloud said. He sifted his fingers gently into Genesis’ hair. “Get you, and tie you to some couches. And if I feel like fucking you then, I’ll fuck you. Or maybe I’ll do it in the morning. You’ll wait, either way.”

Then he was gone, walking away with Aeris, talking about inconsequential things. And they were still there, bound together, looking at each other. Genesis closed his eyes.

He took in the strain of ropes around his body, the cramping in his limbs, the ache of his denied cock against his belly. The nagging, terribly pleasurable push of Sephiroth’s cock, the minute shifts of the other man’s body under him. He opened his eyes, and looked back, and then, with hitching, slow movements, moaning through his gag, he laid himself down on top of the other man. Sephiroth groaned, his hips flexing against the ropes, tugging Genesis this way and way against him. Then he settled as well, and they waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was really frustrating, because I think there's a good set-up idea but I feel like I never quite got Genesis' voice right.
> 
> I do like the idea of Aeris as an a very feminine, delicate, but firm dom.


	9. Post-Fic: Vincent and Tseng, Cloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rape fantasy and roleplay is really, really not something I'm into. But for some reason the idea of Tseng and Vincent using it to work out old trauma really stuck with me, so I finally tried writing it out.

The suit wasn’t that much different. At least, he’d thought so. But turned against him like this, thick wool cloth caging his limbs, doing half the work for them, he knew he’d been wrong.

They shoved him over a metal table as rope hissed over his chest and arms, burned across his wrists. He couldn’t kick effectively because the tight, narrow cut of the pencil skirt held his legs down above the knees. His jacket, tailored to hug his waist, went taut under the ropes, turning into a vise that stole breath. He had to stop struggling just so he wouldn’t pass out.

The table clanged under the weight of another body. Tseng fell more onto it than off, his arms already bound to his sides, thick rope knotting his wrists at the small of his back. His wide eye caught Vincent for a moment, and then he was flipped onto his belly, shoved forward till his legs hung off only from the knees down. They were already cinching rope around his thighs.

A glaring light hung over the table, half-blinding Vincent every time he tried to turn his head and see their attackers. They were shadows with hard, grasping hands, yanking at his clothes, jerking him suffocatingly around by the tie as they laughed and jibed about photo applications only, pulling bait and switches on models. One of them squeezed Vincent’s buttock till he bit his lip, then did it again. Then groped around to the front, freezing for only a moment on his cock.

Gleeful, they moved the rope around his thighs to around his knees. A hand roughly yanked his tie over his head, catching a few buttons along the way, then reached into his gaping collar to fondle a nipple. Others unzipped his skirt, pressed it down his hips and stroked along the simple cotton panties he wore underneath. They made crude jokes about dressing like he was begging for it, about fucking his mouth and ass. Someone rubbed a hand over his cock again and commented that he didn’t need it for that.

But maybe the other one would miss it, said another. There was a harsh grunt and Vincent looked over, saw Tseng with his ass up and three fingers pumping in and out of it, his fly loose and open under the arch of his belly. Another arm was reaching into it, doing something that made Tseng shut his eyes and pant into the table. Their attackers agreed that both of them wanted to take it.

Elastic snapped hard against Vincent’s ass, making him gasp. Fingers forced into his mouth, keeping it open, and as his panties were pulled down over his buttocks, a cock was pushed past his lips. That hand was still rubbing his cock through his clothes. He jerked and choked and inadvertently pushed himself onto two fingertips. Then they drove into him the rest of the way, too much too soon, slicked with nothing but spit.

They passed his mouth among two or three cocks, and from the sound of it, were doing the same to Tseng. Every so often, when he’d gathered himself enough to struggle, the fingers in his ass would jab his prostate and he’d collapse with a moan, just offering up a slack throat. Seemed to be more than enough for them. Ejaculate was streaking Vincent’s chin by the time the last cock pulled out.

Most of the hands left him and he thought, maybe, that was the end of it. But then his hips were pulled around and something blunt-headed was pressed into him. A dildo, thick, shaped unrealistically but in all the ways that left Vincent unwillingly weak with forced pleasure. They slid his panties and skirt back up, zipped up the zipper. Pulled him off the table and into a blindfold, a gag, heavy black cloth that tasted of dust and industrial oil and that let in no light.

He was seated in a chair. Hard and wooden, his weight directly on the end of the dildo. They folded his legs under the chair and tied his ankles together, then pulled them up and connected them to the rope on his wrists, so his feet didn’t touch the floor. He had one pump still on and it gave up now, falling with a muted clatter. Concrete. He tried to move and it only impaled him further on the dildo so behind the blindfold, his eyes rolled back.

Another chair was dragged over, someone was pushed into it, ropes rasped against each other. Then a swaggering rumble as they walked out and left him and Tseng there, twisting in their bindings. He tried not to move, but his limbs cramped and spasmed and then jerked, and then he would move and the dildo would push and he would groan. Tseng was grunting, then making soft, strangled noises. Then they turned low and hurt, small whimpers that made Vincent shiver.

He didn’t know how long they were there. The door opened again. A crowd of footsteps came through, but only one walked over to them. Two fingers lifted his chin, then touched a tender spot on his breastbone. They paused as he tensed, then deliberately pressed down, making him whine through the gag.

The hand traveled further into his shirt, toying with one nipple, and then grazed his trembling stomach before it withdrew. He heard the click of a switchblade, felt the thin line of pressure on his shoulder just by his neck.

They cut off his jacket in pieces, pulling each out from under the ropes so his bindings could scratch through his much thinner shirt. The knife glided up his thigh but left his skirt intact, and then he felt the rope between his wrists and ankles begin to give.

Someone caught him as he fell off the chair, then redirected him onto what felt like a half-stuffed mattress on the floor before he could take it for kindness. The dildo slid partly out, then pushed a little in, held by his tight skirt, and it burned where the dildo had been and burned where the dildo now was. He turned his head into the mattress.

A hand pressed against his ass, rocking the dildo. “Wet,” they said. “Can’t see it yet, but I can feel it. Maybe if we left you longer, it’d soak all the way through your clothes. You’d be sitting in a puddle of yourself.”

Then it shoved the dildo back in. Vincent bit down on the gag, feeling the seep out around the dildo, the stickiness of the panties over his buttocks and down his perineum. His face was burning, and he knew the others could see it.

Lewd suggestions filled the air. His skirt was unzipped again, his panties cut off, the knife icy against his hip. Someone fucked him slowly with the dildo while Tseng was pushed down in a flurry of groans at the other end of the mattress. They cut the clothes off Tseng too—Vincent could track by the body parts they wanted to talk about violating—and then pushed him over to Vincent, his head down by Vincent’s stomach.

The ropes on Vincent’s legs were pulled off. Hands shoved his skirt up around his hips, tearing the seams, and then his gag was taken out. Before he could speak, his face was shoved into Tseng’s groin. He still had come on his jaw that the gag hadn’t soaked up, and it itched between his face and Tseng’s leg. Then a mouth closed sloppily over his own cock.

He arched, moaning. They dragged Tseng off, so quickly that his teeth caught on the head of Vincent’s cock. Vincent hissed and then someone slapped him lightly on the side of the head. They wanted him and Tseng to get each other more wet—Tseng was wet too, dripping, they said, more than ready but they wanted to see how much more they could get.

Fingers twisted in Vincent’s hair and pulled his head in between Tseng’s legs; he felt Tseng being pushed into his thigh and awkwardly lifted his leg, hiking it over the man’s shoulder. His mouth met sweat and something thicker, stickier, sweeter. He licked it and Tseng moaned against his perineum, making them both tremble.

Their attackers were impatient, dragging on hair and slapping buttocks. Vincent laved his way up the cleft of Tseng’s ass, up to the stretch of flesh around another dildo, and then he sucked and licked as he was told. He used his teeth. Tseng was working at Vincent’s hole, squirming his tongue, trying to work it in alongside the dildo, and Vincent’s hips were moving, riding the man’s head. He felt like his body had split in two at the waist, the bottom part dissolving in pleasure, the top half-suffocated and filthy.

Suddenly he was pulled up, set on his knees. The blindfold came off and his eyes stung. The bright light was well away, over to the left, but for a long time he could see only the white of it and the dark of everything else.

Shapes came back. A little color. He and Tseng knelt, bound, their suits in tatters under the rope, spit and come and other things smeared over them. They looked up at Cloud.

He touched each of their faces, fingertips stroking down their cheeks. “Serve or die,” he said.

Vincent licked his lips. They hurt, and so did his mouth and his throat. He tried to speak, swallowed, and tried again. “Serve,” he whispered. He shivered as Cloud cupped a hand under his chin. “Please.”

Cloud straightened up and stepped forward. He unfastened his fly and took out his cock, and cradled the back of Vincent’s head in one hand as Vincent swallowed it eagerly down. He told someone to wait and Tseng whimpered, then shuffled over the mattress as Cloud gestured to him. Tseng leaned against Cloud’s hip, making soft, urgent but not forceful noises as Vincent sucked Cloud’s cock up and then through its climax, careful to not let his sore lips loosen and lose a drop.

Afterward Cloud pushed them both back down onto the mattress. The room was empty, only the scuffs on the floor showing that more people had ever been in it. “You’re disgusting,” Cloud said, sitting on one corner and petting Vincent’s hair. “Suit’s probably _stained_ on you. Take forever to get it off.”

Tseng was lying across from Vincent, facing him. At Cloud’s words Tseng closed his eyes and shuddered hard, as much pain twisting up his face as pleasure. A fleck of blue caught Vincent’s eye. He pushed forward, then stopped, feeling the tug of Cloud’s fingers in his hair. Then they lifted out and he leaned over and licked at Tseng’s neck, right by the scrap of jacket caught in a rope crossing the man’s shoulder. Tseng shuddered again, craned his head, and then he and Vincent were kissing viciously, pushing already bruised lips to bleeding.

Vincent broke it off when the dildo was pushed sharply into him. It’d come part-out; he hadn’t noticed till now, and he was still gasping when he was rolled on top of Tseng. Their cocks pressed painfully over each other. Tseng bucked and their cocks shifted, laid side to side over rope and torn shirts and flesh.

Cloud leaned over them both, his hands between their legs. He pumped the dildo in and out of Vincent, and judging from how Tseng bit Vincent’s shoulder, was doing the same to Tseng. He didn’t touch them otherwise. They had to squirm and drag against each other, the rasp of the rope against their cocks both torment and welcome friction. He made them work to come, made them exhaust themselves for a painful, rough climax, one that made Vincent let out a raw, animalistic cry that had Tseng staring up at him, openmouthed, bleary and wide-eyed from coming and more than a little fearful.

Once it was over, Cloud pulled him off Tseng and untied some of the rope. Enough so that Vincent could feel the pain lessening; the demons had had a much higher threshold and he’d inherited it to some degree. He let Cloud arrange him on the mattress. The dildo was still in him, slowly squeezing out of his limp body, but he couldn’t work up the effort to hurry that along.

He watched Cloud tend to Tseng, untying him and removing the dildo from his hole. Tseng sprawled himself over Cloud’s lap, his mouth working in small, needy sucks against Cloud’s throat. Cloud paused, then curled his hand between Tseng’s buttocks and pushed two fingers into Tseng’s hole. Tseng sighed and relaxed, his head tipping back so he could give Cloud a lazy kiss.

“Seriously, this is a mess,” Cloud said. It was a statement, not a judgment. He leaned back from Tseng, scraping at some of the come dried on Tseng’s throat. “Did this actually happen at some point?”

His eyes drifted during the question, not looking at either of them. He rubbed his hand down Tseng’s neck and across the man’s shoulder, then turned it over into a grip as Tseng made a thoughtful sound.

“No,” Tseng said. “No, I killed them first. But…you think, sometimes, what it might take for you to leave. What might take you. Out of Shinra.”

“Not that I remember. I may have been unconscious,” Vincent said. He met the other two men’s gazes steadily; Cloud was startled that he’d said something, not about what he’d said, while Tseng was genuinely…concerned. In this life they’d never overlapped as colleagues, although Vincent had taken some freelance work after leaving with Lucrecia and they had crossed paths. They hadn’t really known each other till Tseng had cornered him and, very calmly, explained the things Cloud hadn’t been telling him.

He still owed the man a debt for that. The occasional silent companionship as Tseng closed the door on Rufus and on the Turks and let out an eye-roll or a despairing sigh, or, rarely, a round of nervous pacing, was nowhere near to clear it. Neither was this, but this was, Vincent admitted, something he was growing to like about the man. He did like the man. And perhaps, somehow, he was liked back.

It still made him uncomfortable, but he’d learned not to treat it so lightly. “It was a different life,” he added after a moment. “I don’t know. I woke up in Hojo’s lab—the first one.”

They accepted that and left it when he left it. Cloud already knew what he meant. Tseng didn’t have the knowledge, but he understood that some things needed to be buried.

“But this didn’t happen, anyway,” Vincent said. He pulled experimentally at his arms, then shook them out of the ropes and swung them, grimacing at the cramps, in front of him. He looked at his freshly re-armored arm and hand. “Should I come over?

Tseng blinked, then squirmed as Cloud moved his fingers in and out of him. He twisted slightly on Cloud’s lap, turning himself towards Vincent, and Cloud pulled him back by the waist, licking at the mage jewels piercing his ear. Turks rarely wore them; no point in advertising your strengths.

No point in hiding weaknesses here. Vincent crawled across the mattress. That fear was back in Tseng’s eyes, fear liberally mixed with lust and curiosity, and his eyes were the only place the fear was. He spread his legs and arched back against Cloud’s hand, offering his cock up without hesitation.

“He’s more than human again,” Cloud murmured into Tseng’s ear, looking Vincent right in the eye. He knew what he was saying, knew the way it sent a warm flush through Vincent’s whole body. “Which do you want?”

“Why choose?” Tseng murmured back. He dragged his head off Cloud’s shoulder with an effort, eyes entirely lustful now. “Your mouth. Your tongue. The—ah!—the fangs. Please.”

Cloud grinned, plumped Tseng’s cock towards Vincent with his thumb. “Come on. Get him up again. I want him hard and begging for it when he sucks me off.”

Smiling, his teeth long and sharp, Vincent bent to serve.


	10. Post-Fic: Cloud, Genesis, Rufus, Tseng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...so as Cloud says in this, I wanted to pornify and mock those bucolic farmhouse romances. I think the prose got _really_ purple here, but I'm leaving it be as a kind of reminder of how I normally try not to write.

“You never met a romance novel you couldn’t pervert, have you?” Cloud says dryly, looking at the man in front of him.

Unruffled, Rufus runs his hands down his hips, smoothing the crisp linen. He’s gotten someone to make him a pair of white bloomers, pillowy things that tie off at the knee with white ribbons, which move softly over his thighs and call attention to their sleekness. Up top he’s got on a corset that’s plain for him, butter-soft leather the color of caramel, with no lace or inserts, just long gleaming stretches between the boning and, when he half-turns, black cotton laces tightly binding it together.

“A story is hardly required, Cloud,” Rufus says. He hooks a demure look over one bare shoulder, not at all matching his arch tone. Then he bends over, reties one of the knee ribbons. The bloomers pull close over his buttock and let the curve of it press against the linen for a moment. “I told you, this is not supposed to require thinking on your part.”

“Weren’t you just telling me the other day that I need to think more?” Cloud says. But he’s rolling his shoulders, feeling them loosen.

It’s warm in the stable, sunlight dappling the cobblestone floor outside of the stall and occasionally brushing Cloud’s side and head when the breeze picks up in the trees outside. But the stall is cool and shadowed, a scatter of hay picking up a few glints of sunlight but no more than that. Rufus’ nipples are already peaking, tight and pink against their piercings. He catches Cloud looking, runs his finger across his mouth in an absent gesture and then very deliberately brushes it down his chest and over one nipple.

They’ve brought out a chair for Cloud, and it creaks as he catches himself leaning closer. Rufus smiles and strokes his hand back up, over the brown leather collar that covers his throat from collarbone to jawline. “I did, and I do stand by that. But we were talking about your infuriating insistence on assuming before you’ve asked—”

“Shall I shut his mouth?” Genesis asks. He leans against the wooden partition between the stalls, idly swinging a strip of leather between his fingers.

“The point,” Rufus says, looking narrowly at Genesis, “Is that we’re not in town now, and you needn’t always have the burden of thinking for others. If you don’t wish a story, then don’t bother. I’m certain we can handle the matter.”

“Yeah, looks like it,” Cloud says, and he looks.

Genesis tilts his head, then slowly cants his hips. He has on a leather corset of the same simple cut as Rufus’ but several shades darker, and matching leather leggings that hug his slim legs, cradle the swells of his buttocks. Somehow Rufus has talked him into forgoing the red boots for black ones, high-heeled with a tapering toe. When he pushes himself off the wall and walks by Rufus, the contrast with Rufus’ pale, naked feet, already dusty with hay motes, stirs a hot curl of arousal in Cloud.

He stops when Cloud straightens, then steps back so he’s shoulder to shoulder with Rufus, who bows his head and crosses his wrists across the taut front of his corset, breathing already a little quicker. Cloud really doesn’t have to do any work here; he can sit and look and do nothing.

Though it’s not work. And he gets the point Rufus is making, gets also that as much as they don’t ask, don’t even let a hint of curiosity escape, they can’t stop themselves from watching him. And it’s unfair, his failure to actually outright tell them how stressed he’s been the past few weeks, or even begin to explain the disastrous massacre he’d had to live through a few generations ago that he’s been thinking way too much about lately. It’s unfair, but he’s not going to talk about it.

He leans forward on purpose, resting his arms on his knees. “Tie his hands back.”

Rufus’ eyes are blown before Genesis has even laid a finger on him. He shivers over and over, the shivers running slower and longer each time, as Genesis turns him sideways to Cloud and pulls his arms behind him. Genesis crosses them over the back where the spine curves in and cinches the leather strap firmly around the wrists. He’s careful to smooth each loop so it lies flat against the skin, almost looking like part of it.

“Are you sorry?” Cloud says.

“Yes,” Rufus says. His voice is whispery but thick. He clears his throat like he’s choking a little, then raises his voice. “Yes. Yes, I’m sorry. I was—I was disobedient.”

Cloud flicks his fingers around and Genesis turns Rufus to face the far wall of the stall, back to Cloud. Then he pushes the other man to his knees, one hand slipping under Rufus’ left buttock to keep Rufus from sitting back on his heels. He glances at Cloud again, then puts his hand on Rufus’ back, just over the bound wrists, and glides them over the corset and up the bare back and onto the collar, pushing Rufus’ head down.

“I’m sorry,” Rufus says, more urgently. “I won’t—not again. Please—please don’t. Please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Genesis’ mouth twitches but he manages to keep his silence. At another gesture from Cloud, he hooks his fingers under the waistband of the bloomers. He pulls up till Cloud can see that the ribbon lining is stretched as far as it will go, then tugs them down to expose Rufus’ ass.

“Touch him,” Cloud says. “How is it?”

“Soft,” Genesis observes. He hefts the buttock in his hand, then splays his fingers and rubs across it, hard enough to pink the flesh. His fingers catch on the curve and pull the buttock aside to show Rufus’ hole. He frowns, looking at something, and then rubs his fingers across the hole while Rufus squirms and hisses. “Wet. He’s slicked himself up already. Probably fucking his hole, thinking about what he did. Shameless.”

“No.” Rufus shakes his head. “No, I just—”

“Don’t gag him yet,” Cloud says, as Genesis begins to rise. “Get the oil, and fuck him with your fingers. Since that’s what he wants.”

Genesis nods and turns on his feet, leisurely stretching like a cat. The leggings tighten over his ass and thighs as he retrieves a bottle of oil and pours it over his fingers. He makes a loose fist, using his thumb to spread the oil, and then turns back to Rufus.

Rufus starts to moan as Genesis’ fingers push in and out of him. Sometimes Genesis spreads them, crooking them upwards so Cloud can glimpse the space in between. Then he slides them back in, twists them about. The rim of Rufus’ hole flushes from the friction, even with oil to lubricate, and Rufus shifts on his knees, rolls his hips once.

“Stop,” Cloud says.

Genesis stops and wipes his fingers on a rag. Groaning, Rufus rests his head on the ground. His ass trembles against the dark line of his corset.

“Plug him up before he dirties his clothes,” Cloud tells Genesis.

There’s a creak behind Cloud, and then a shadow thrown over his knees. Tseng slips around the open door of the stall and stops just inside. He’s dressed the same as Genesis, except that he has a navy blue hunting coat on over the corset and leggings, with square tails brushing over his buttocks and a sharp nip at the waist. He has a plug in his hand, its leather gleaming with oil. He tosses it to Genesis, who catches it by the silver ring bolt embedded in one end.

Genesis wipes the cleft of Rufus’ ass before he pushes in the plug, using the same rag he’d used for his hand. Then he pulls the bloomers back up, the plug a wobbling shadow beneath the fine linen. He hauls Rufus up by the neck and Cloud watches a shudder roll down Rufus’ back and into his hips. The bloomers stretch tight and, following the path of least resistance, groove in between his buttocks, and then stick there.

“He’s hard, the whore,” Genesis remarks, as if commenting on the weather.

“Let me see,” Cloud says.

Rufus is blushing when he’s finally shuffled himself around, his chest heaving above the corset. He won’t look at Cloud and licks his lips over and over. The front of his bloomers has a long damp stripe, and when Genesis pulls them down, digging up with two fingers at the same time, a flushed, erect cock is revealed.

“Guess I shouldn’t have worried about saving your underwear, and that’s another mistake you’ve made. You’re not coming till the punishment’s over,” Cloud says, and Rufus’ head jerks up to show wide, surprised eyes. “Haven’t even started on that. Tseng?”

Tseng produces a handful of leather strips. He slaps them lightly against the back of his hand, the odd drop of water coming off; Rufus’ eyes go to them and are glued there, the man still and tense like a cornered animal, as Tseng walks over to him. When Tseng bends down, Rufus starts up on one knee and Genesis stands up behind him and holds him down by the shoulders. Rufus whimpers as Tseng carefully, tightly wraps the leather around the bottom of his cock, over his scrotum.

“Please stop,” Rufus says, looking at Cloud. “Please. It hurts al—ah!”

The weeping tip of Rufus’ cock nearly sweeps the stone floor as Tseng pulls on the piece of leather hanging from the knot around the base of Rufus’ scrotum. Tseng ignores the other man’s pleas and pushes the strap between Rufus’ legs. He moves out of the way as Rufus bends over at the waist until his cheek presses the floor, then reaches behind Rufus and pulls the end of the strap out of the back of the bloomers, knotting it to the strap around Rufus’ wrists. Genesis helpfully rolls the bloomers down Rufus’ ass and Cloud can just glimpse the silver ring of the plug, held in by the strap threaded through it.

“Turn him back around,” Cloud says.

Rufus’ hands are clenched to his back. He tries to rub his head against Tseng’s leg as Tseng and Genesis take his shoulders and hips, and lift him into place. Tseng swerves his leg out of the way without breaking pace, then steps away so Cloud can look at the pretty white buttocks in front of him.

“Genesis,” Cloud says. When Genesis looks up, Cloud moves his hand and Tseng offers Genesis the riding crop.

One by one, hot red welts rake over Rufus’ ass. Genesis swings the crop forcefully but takes long breaks in between, occasionally pushing the tip of his boot into Rufus’ hip or shoulder. Rufus begs them to stop, tells them it hurts, but moans desperately when Tseng leans down to run his fingers over the welts. His fingers flex helplessly against his back.

“Stop,” Cloud says. Genesis stops. Cloud motions for him to come over and Genesis blinks, surprised. 

Then lazy satisfaction settles over him, makes his movements languid. He drops fluidly to his hands and knees, the riding crop between his teeth, and crawls over to Cloud, his hips swaying an invitation. The back of the leggings are slit and the slit gapes with every swing, leather seams hugging the curves instead of covering the cleft. He puts the crop in Cloud’s hand, then purrs as Cloud caresses his back, strokes over the corset and dips two fingers into the slit.

“It’s a strange day when you’re more obedient,” Cloud says. He cups his hand around the back of Genesis’ neck and pulls the man closer, so that Genesis hooks both hands over the same knee of Cloud’s and kneels up. “See this? This is what I want from you.”

Tseng’s taken Rufus and pulled him to lie across Tseng’s thighs, one arm locking Rufus’ waist and the other keeping Rufus’ head turned towards Cloud. Rufus’ cheeks are wet, his mouth is wet and swollen-looking. He pants and stares as Cloud slips the tip of the riding crop into the slit of Genesis’ leggings and uses it to push apart the buttocks, showing the plug and the strap pressed snugly across it.

Cloud lifts the crop and turns Genesis around, pulling his head back by the hair. He runs the crop down Genesis’ chest, flicks it between Genesis’ spread knees and taps at the flat front of Genesis’ leggings. Genesis arches slightly, a soft moan drifting from his lips. “It’s still soft,” Genesis murmurs. “I tied it up this morning, tied it up and strapped it back between my legs, so it won’t distract me from you.”

“Good,” Cloud says. He lets his hand slide out of Genesis’ hair to circle the man’s neck, and keeps it there. He puts the riding crop back in Genesis’ mouth, then pulls out a red leather collar from his pocket and buckles it onto Genesis’ throat.

Pleased, Genesis turns and nuzzles at Cloud’s thigh, careful to keep the crop under it and out of the way. He makes a disappointed noise when Cloud pushes him back; Cloud has to breathe a couple times so he won’t just drag Genesis’ head back. He’s painfully hard himself but he can wait it out a little longer. He feels like waiting.

Cloud gives Genesis a light push on the back of the head, and the other man crawls back across the stall. Tseng twists Rufus upright so Genesis doesn’t have to dip his head to kiss him. The riding crop is trapped between their mouths, lips pressing fervently around it, and then Rufus gasps and the crop is shoved firmly between his teeth. Tseng removes the hand he’d been using to squeeze Rufus’ welted buttock and quickly loops a leather strap around the crop’s handle, then behind Rufus’ head, tying the crop in place.

Genesis sits up and plays with the rings in Rufus’ nipples, flicking them with his nails. Rufus whines around the crop, swaying on his knees. He bites down so the crop quivers as Tseng pulls the bloomers back up to his waist, ungently pushing at his buttocks. The linen has several damp patches now, almost transparent, showing tender welts and oily rings around the plug.

“Sit him back so he can have a good view,” Cloud says. “We’ll give him a demonstration before Tseng has his turn whipping a little sense into him.”

Rufus’ eyes widen over the crop. He twists sharply, and uselessly, as Genesis and Tseng drag him to the back of the stall and push him down on a bale of hay. The rough stalks probably scratch right through the bloomers like they’re tissue-paper; Rufus writhes and whimpers like it, arching his back helplessly as Tseng ties his ankles to the rough, thick twine holding the bale’s shape, so his legs stay spread and his ass firmly on the hay. The front of his bloomers is wet through, too, the silhouette of his cock and balls pressing up against it, with the wettest part right where the head of his cock is.

Tseng stops to strip off his coat, then follows Genesis in crossing the stall and kneeling up between Cloud’s legs. The two of them work open Cloud’s fly, fingers clever and caressing, while kissing each other with open, hungry mouths. Cloud wraps his hand over the ribbon tying back Tseng’s hair, slumps down in his chair. He strokes Genesis’ head and watches Rufus watching them, eyes longing behind the haze of pain and lust, and doesn’t think, just enjoys their mouths.

It’s over a little too soon. He could have pulled their heads back, but he can’t help himself, with Rufus splayed out in front of him, riding that bale of hay with trembling legs, a soaked groin, nipple rings pattering against the leather corset. Tseng rests his head on Cloud’s legs, gently sucking out the last few drops, while Genesis turns his head to lick at Cloud’s fingers as Cloud catches his breath.

“Bring him back,” Cloud says.

They untie Rufus from the bale and put him on his knees again. His feet slide more than walk across the hay-strewn floor, and when Tseng pulls the riding crop from his mouth, Rufus moans and cranes his head to chase the long strings of spit hanging from the handle. Tseng frowns, turns the crop this way and that, and then, slowly and deliberately, wipes it off in Rufus’ hair. Rufus shudders, his eyes falling shut. He barely resists as Genesis pushes his head down and pulls off the bloomers.

Tseng strikes him in pairs of blows, quick and curt so that Rufus can’t react to the first until both lashes are flushing to life on his ass. Some of them cut across the welts Genesis have left; the old ones are still bright but they turn even deeper scarlet at the fresh blows. Rufus is beyond words by the time Tseng gives Cloud the crop, his shoulders nearly touching the floor, his breath coming in long, thin sobs.

Cloud gets to his feet. He walks slowly around Rufus, giving the man time to move his head to follow, and stops before him. Rufus’ mouth shakes around a half-gasped plea, and then comes to rest on the top of Cloud’s boot. “Do you want to come?” Cloud asks.

Rufus’ eyes are still tightly shut. He rocks his head in the slightest of nods.

“With my cock in you?” Cloud says, bending down.

“Please,” Rufus moans. He opens his eyes and stares up at Cloud. They’re glazed with lust.

“No,” Cloud says, and pulls his boot back as Rufus sobs quietly. “No, that’d be rewarding you. You’ll come, all right, because you need to get back in the house, but it’ll be their fingers in you, and only after they’ve both fucked that hole of yours.”

Tseng makes a bitten-off noise, then releases a low moan when Cloud nods at him. He and Genesis grab at Rufus, their composure gone. Genesis takes Rufus over his thigh and drags Rufus’ bloomers down to the knees, while Tseng pulls urgently at the lacing up the sides of his leggings. The leather peels down and Tseng flings his head back, rocking into his own hands as he undoes the straps around his cock and balls.

He runs his fingers through the mess of oil and sweat covering Rufus’ ass, rubbing them from hole to scrotum—Rufus squirms, Genesis fondling Rufus’ bound cock—and then uses the fluid he’s collected to slick up his cock, which is soft at first but which hardens quickly. Genesis watches it, lip pinned under his teeth, and pumps the plug in and out of Rufus. Then he unties the strap over it and pulls it out, Tseng puts his hands on Rufus’ hips, and in one smooth movement they push Rufus down onto Tseng’s cock.

Rufus collapses forward, held up only by the arm Tseng’s hastily slung around his waist. Genesis could help but he’s not, scooting back to claw at his own clothing. Tseng makes an annoyed, almost snarling noise, but calms down when Cloud steps forward and hooks his hands under Rufus’ shoulders. He slides his hands back to Rufus’ hips, his thumbs digging into the buttocks so Rufus cries out from the pain.

Cloud moves over so he and Rufus are face to face. A flicker of recognition passes over Rufus and then his head is back, his eyes rolling as Tseng fucks him. His mouth opens so wide that Cloud can see down to the soft part of the back of his throat, the part that gags when someone puts a cock there.

Tseng doesn’t last that long. He pulls out and continues the motion into a rattling slump against the stall partition, his cock still softening against his belly. Rufus manages to hiccup, wet and hurt, once before Genesis has pushed his cock into the man. Genesis is even crueler, slinging his arm around to fist up and down Rufus’ cock so Rufus bucks against him, trying futilely to chase his arousal to some kind of conclusion.

Rufus is making choked, small sounds against Cloud’s arm when Genesis’ cock finally slides out, dragging a streak of come with it. He rubs his cheek against Cloud, presses soft lips to the inside of Cloud’s elbow as Cloud gets down on one knee. Cloud lets him lay his head on Cloud’s shoulder.

“Please,” he moans as Tseng shoulders off the wall, leans forward and pushes a finger into his hole. “Please.”

Cloud reaches between his legs. Tseng’s tied good, tight knots, but they release easily at Cloud’s tugs. Rufus musters up the energy to push back into Tseng’s hand, now on two fingers. Then he starts, pushing his face sharply into Cloud’s arm. Genesis laughs and keeps prodding his two fingers till they’re knuckle-deep alongside Tseng’s. The two of them start playing again and Cloud can see Rufus’ hole stretch as they twist their fingers in opposite directions. One will pull out just as the other pushes in so Rufus can’t settle into a rhythm.

“Please,” Rufus cries, as Cloud pulls the last knot free. He shifts his head enough to look up in complete, adoring gratitude as Cloud wraps his hand around the man’s cock.

Whatever Tseng and Genesis are doing, it doesn’t stand up against two firm pumps. Rufus jerks forward violently, his feet skittering over the floor as he spasms. Come flows out over Cloud’s hand, string after string of it, until finally Rufus’ body gives one last upwards heave and he’s done.

Tseng takes Rufus’ weight back on him, idly stroking Rufus’ thighs as Cloud rubs his hand in the crumpled linen around Rufus’ knees. He twists his hand in the bloomers till it’s clean, and then, with Tseng’s help, works the sodden, soiled garment back over Rufus’ hips and buttocks. Rufus recovers enough to squirm, his lip curling in distaste, and then he looked up with dark eyes, flushed face, as Cloud pats his limp cock through the bloomers.

“Yeah, you’re filthy,” Cloud tells him. “Look at this. Completely ruined these. You’d better have a spare.”

Rufus’ breath catches. “In the house,” he finally says, soft and submissive. “I’m sorry.”

“I should pull them back off and make you carry them inside in your mouth,” Cloud says. He lets Rufus whimper, then pulls back. “Untie his hands. And you, go inside and clean up, and then get your spare pair and go to the bedroom.”

He goes in first, and heads for the kitchen. The tension’s mostly gone from him except a hard tug in his belly he finally recognizes as hunger; he has trouble sometimes figuring out when to eat, with his pain threshold. Someone, either Tseng or Vincent, remembered to get some prepared food from Aeris before they’d left, and has set out a plate of half-sandwiches and savory pastries under a netted dome.

Cloud has one of the pastries. It’s not hot but Aeris’ kitchen does them so the gravy somehow melts into the meat when cold, making it moist without any greasy lumps. He washes it down with some watered-down mead. That takes him all of ten minutes so he heads to the back porch.

The hunting lodge is small, intimate, tucked closely into the side of the mountain. He can go from the back porch to the stable in five steps, or he can go around to the other end of the porch and find the water pump. The house is powered, and Nibelheim’s probably the most stable place on the planet, but every so often a ripple in the magic will knock things out, so the pump’s just in case.

Someone is actually using it at the moment, and it turns out to be Tseng, who wets a rag in what Cloud knows is an ice-cold stream and then carefully runs it over his cock, avoiding drips on the leather. Genesis is braced against the wall of the lodge and is working leather straps back over his scrotum. Blue and red hunting coats are hanging on a peg beside him.

“He’s inside,” Tseng says, seeing Cloud. His cock clean, he dries it with a spell and then mimics Genesis, bundling his balls snugly between his legs. “Do you want us to come up?”

“Don’t know, is that part of it?” Cloud says. He feels a little guilty when Tseng pauses and looks more carefully at him. “I’m just curious. I think I did actually read a novel with something like this in it, once. Tifa went through this phase where she read that type of thing, and kept quoting them in battle.”

Genesis snorts. He’d tensed, too, but now he relaxes against the stone wall. He gently rubs his fingers over his scrotum, the flesh already reddening from compression, and then sighs and inches his legs a little further apart. He starts to slide on the straps for his cock. “This is why Sephiroth prefers her over Tuesti. The man’s sense of humor is stunted but he does have a fine appreciation of irony.”

“I’d like to see that novel if you find it again,” Tseng says. His voice is warm and so are his eyes. It’s a strangely uncomplicated affection, considering everything, but then again, Tseng trusts rarely because he doesn’t doubt his trust. “I don’t know if Rufus was thinking of one. He never reads fiction—when his mother died he kept whatever things of hers he could, but he threw out her whole library.”

Cloud wonders suddenly, looking at these two men, the way they casually bind themselves for him, what they’ve managed to keep. Rufus had control of vast funds when he fled Midgar, so he could buy before Cloud could notice any lack of supplies, and Genesis has steadily filled up his rooms in their various lodgings, but again, Cloud can’t tell what’s new and what’s not. And Tseng doesn’t ask for his own room, just keeps his necessities in whichever bedroom he’s sharing, and his spare weapons in Cloud’s armory. Cloud really has no idea.

“I was thinking he’d gone and deliberately botched something in your bedroom,” Genesis says thoughtfully. He leans his head against cool stone, eyes half-lidded, his fingers slowly easing leather up his hips. “Spilled ink, or something like that. Gagging to have an excuse to stay in there long, whore for attention that he is.”

Tseng pauses again. His gaze is surprisingly intent on Genesis; not shocking that Genesis has a flair for storytelling, with his love-hate relationship with poetry, but Tseng’s voice is both amused and intrigued when he speaks. “House servants are indoors all the time anyway,” he says. “Stablehands are rarely allowed past the…the kitchen.”

“But we ride in the hunt,” Genesis says, meeting Tseng’s eyes. He tugs sharply on the side laces of his leggings, then inhales slowly as the leather pulls tautly across his abdomen. “Just behind the hounds. And when it’s over and they’re skinning the catch, we’re there, waiting to cool the hunters.”

“But today isn’t a hunt day,” Cloud says after a moment.

Genesis swings off the wall and comes up to the porch. It’s raised off the ground so that his head is about level with Cloud’s chest; Cloud leans his arm on the rail and Genesis steps forward so Cloud doesn’t have to move anything but his fingers to catch the man’s collar.

“Well, then, we remain bound, don’t we?” Genesis says, tilting up his head. His hair feathers over Cloud’s hand, and behind him, Tseng’s eyes are searing with lust. “Pining for it, for the hot run and then the rut in the woods afterwards, but we come to heel like the hounds we follow.”

“Then maybe tomorrow, if you’re still so good,” Cloud says after a moment. He listens to the catch in Genesis’ breathing. “But for now, back to the stables.”

It takes him a while to settle them. Bound with the same leather strips they’d used on Rufus, their wrists crossed to their backs, legs folded so their ankles can be leashed to their wrists. He blindfolds them and puts them nose to groin on a thick bed of hay in a cool, shaded stall, and drapes their coats over them for good measure. They suck at his fingers when he presses them to each mouth in leaving, and he wipes his hand off on one leather-encased buttock before latching the stall door.

Rufus is waiting in his bedroom, kneeling by the bed with a clean, crisp pair of linen bloomers laid out on the mattress. He’s washed himself everywhere the collar and corset doesn’t cover, and has wiped those so that they’re spotless and gleaming. His hair is still a little damp when Cloud slides his fingers into it, fists them for a second.

“Genesis tells a pretty good story,” Cloud says. He lifts Rufus’ chin with his hand so he can see the interest spark in the man’s eyes. “They do make pretty stablehands. Good for hunting, good for turning on difficult servants.”

“Am I difficult?” Rufus says, with just enough twist to make it clear he’s teasing.

Cloud rubs his thumb along Rufus’ jaw. “Or are you just clumsy?”

Rufus closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, his lashes only rise enough for Cloud to glimpse his eyes, and then he’s looking at the floor. “I’m half-broken,” he says quietly, and sighs as Cloud bends nearer. “I still need to be taught how to look after you properly.”

It’s a little raw, for all its softness, and Cloud feels—as usual—inadequate. He doesn’t know what to do so he stays where he is and runs his fingers along Rufus’ jaw and lets the words come to rest on their own.

“Please?” Rufus finally says. He lifts his eyes, then drops them again and crosses his wrists over his lap. “Please. Train me.”

“Well, you’re eager, anyway,” Cloud says. He stands up and goes over to the wardrobe in the corner and opens it up. Looking through it gives him a couple more breaths. “But this was disappointing and we’ll have to start all over again. Get on your feet and put your hands on the bed.”

When he turns around, Rufus is bent over, hands on either side of the bloomers, his legs spread and his ass up. The welts on his ass have faded some, enough that he must have brushed a little Cure potion over them. They’re still red but when Cloud presses his thumb across one, Rufus rolls his hips into it, whimpers out of lust more than pain.

“How does that feel?” Cloud says.

“It hurts.” Rufus kneads the bed a little. “It’s sore, and very tender, and it still burns a little.” When Cloud blows on a welt, Rufus moans and nods. “Yes, that—that burns.”

“And your hole?” Cloud blows on it, too, and then slides his finger in. It’s freshly oiled.

“Aches,” Rufus moans. “Stretched out. It’s empty, please, that hurts.”

“What, my finger?”

Rufus shakes his nod, then whines in protest as Cloud withdraws his finger. “No, please, I—anything, something in it. It hurts that it’s empty. It’s…like I can feel the air inside, and it’s swollen inside but there’s just air and you can’t push against that.”

“So you want something to push against, clench your ass around? Something to hold against here?” Cloud pushes his finger back in, just long enough to stroke over the prostate, and then pulls it out.

“Yes,” Rufus gasps. “Yes, please.”

He hitches a little as Cloud pushes the smooth oval against his hole, then relaxes and takes it easily, a long, pleased sound coming from him. The plug right after makes him start but he manages to keep his hands on the bed.

“The first one comes apart, and there’s a socket for materia in the middle,” Cloud says. He pulls on the silk cord for the egg till Rufus’ knees suddenly shake, and then he knots the cord against the hole running through the middle of the plug, so the egg will stay right over Rufus’ prostate. “We’ll run through the spells and you tell me what they are.”

He triggers the first one and Rufus breathes in noisily through his mouth, hands digging into the sheets. “Cold,” he manages. His hole pulls tight around the plug, then relaxes. “Gaia. Cold, in pulses.”

“Turn around, hands behind your back,” Cloud says, and studies the wilting erection. “You needed that one.”

“I’m sorry,” Rufus says, earnest to the point of nervous.

He relaxes when Cloud cups his cheek. The egg makes him shift slightly from foot to foot but he’s fairly still as Cloud lifts his cock. “It’s like this needs a corset, too,” Cloud says, and then he fits a leather sheath around the cock and pulls the laces till the cock is soft in the bindings. He fastens the straps that dangle from the sheath around Rufus’ scrotum, drawing it up tightly between his legs, and clips the last one to the back of the corset. There’s no ring on the plug to thread the strap through, but that’s better, since the plug will move more as it rides against the strap.

“Now put on your underwear,” Cloud says.

Rufus does so without turning around. Halfway through Cloud changes the spells on him and he staggers, nearly bumping his head into Cloud’s hip. “Heat,” he says, strangled, and then he finishes tying the bloomers’ ribbons with shaking hands. “Oh, Gaia, it’s— _cold_.”

He grabs at his knees and moans. Cloud reaches down and pulls him up by the wrists, and lets Rufus lean against him as he slips on the mitts. They’re white leather, with a three-inch wide cuff and two straps attached that Cloud uses to bind Rufus’ wrists so they cross behind his back. Cloud pulls Rufus’ back to his chest, rubbing his hands down the man’s thighs, enjoying the feel of the linen encasing them. Rufus slumps so far that their heads are nearly level, and then bucks sharply.

“Vibrating,” he finally spits out. He’s taut and tense against Cloud, and then he moans and goes slack. “Warm.”

“That’s all of them.” Cloud kisses one shoulder. “Though it can do combinations, too.”

“Oh, Gaia.” Rufus shivers.

Cloud holds him a second longer, then pushes him off. Rufus stands uncertainly until Cloud clips the leash to his collar. Then he breathes in deeply and lowers his eyes.

They go to the library. When Rufus realizes Cloud’s going to the table he pauses; Cloud tugs the leash and Rufus makes a soft, apologetic noise and resumes walking. He kneels gracefully as Cloud sits in a chair, positioning himself between Cloud’s feet.

“You’re going to explain that damned dinner to me,” Cloud says. He wraps the leash around his hand till the shortened length pulls Rufus’ head to his knuckles, and then he strokes behind Rufus’ ear, just before the hairline starts. “And if you do a good job, I’ll let you suck my cock. And then I’m going to get through these stupid reports, because I want this weekend free, and you’re going to make sure I don’t doze off in the middle. If I need to write something, you’re going to get me a pen. You know how?”

He lets the loops of leash drop from his hand. Rufus, his eyes slightly wide, stares at him for a moment longer. It’s a little harsh of Cloud but Rufus had done the same to him just now.

But then Rufus shivers, nods. He gets up and bends over the table, and carefully pulls a pen out from the jar in the corner with his mouth. Then he kneels again. When Cloud puts out his hand, Rufus lowers the pen onto his palm, doesn’t drop it. Cloud grins for a moment, and then tosses the pen on the table and pulls Rufus’ head up by the chin for a kiss.

“Good,” he says, and Rufus purrs. Which turns into a mewl when Cloud sets the egg to vibrate lightly, a little warmer than body temperature. Cloud rubs his hand over Rufus’ shoulder, then fingers a nipple ring. “Good. And if I finish the damn reports, I’ll fuck you, and sleep with my cock in you. That’s what you wanted in the first place, wasn’t it?”

Rufus looks up at him, mouth partly open and panting, eyes soft and hot, hips trembling from the egg. “Yes,” he says. “Please, yes.”

Cloud kisses him again. “Good. Let’s start.”


End file.
